


Phoenix Protocol

by DistantStorm



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Attunement of Grace, Don’t copy to another site, F/M, Gratuitous Descriptions of Light, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Forsaken, Redemption, Romance, Self Confidence Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2019-10-18 01:13:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 41
Words: 68,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17571491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DistantStorm/pseuds/DistantStorm
Summary: When the Traveler's Light was returned to the Guardians after the defeat of the Cabal, it did not manifest itself the same in everyone. Miyu, an Awoken Warlock, finds herself struggling with her abilities, her Light feeling different and not her own. With her Vanguard preoccupied with grief and all eyes turned to the Reef, she finds herself turning to an unlikely source in an attempt to rediscover her connection to the Light and define what it means for her as a Dawnblade.





	1. That Is Not My Name

She is not a loud Guardian. There is far more to be learned from observing and experimenting on her own than there is from dancing beneath the Traveler, she thinks. Not that those solo activities help her make friends. The few she has message her mostly from their assignments abroad. Fine by her, she's okay with the occasional friend visiting every couple cycles, because she enjoys her solitude... for the most part, at least.

It's a strange, beautiful thing, she thinks, thoughts always redirecting when she looks up at the Traveler, glowing dimly in the light. She wishes she had a better analogy or something more poetic, but sometimes, simple words said enough. Her fingers curl around the railing and as her eyes drift closed, her Ghost materializes at her side.

“It's a lovely evening,” He says. “I am happy you're outside to enjoy the cool breeze.”

Pale lips turn up into a smile, and she offers him her shoulder with a tiny wiggle.  He settles upon it without a fuss as several others pass by them.

“Grey,” One of them shouts, “Isn't it past your bedtime?” Another makes a more disparaging comment about her skills, but she does not rise to the bait, instead keeping her gaze focused straight ahead after the initial turn in the direction of the voices. They have no idea that she is far older than they, that she's fought battles they couldn't dream of.

Things, for her, have just been… different, since the war.

“I hate that they treat you that way,” Ghost tells her. “You deserve better, Miyu.”

“It's not a big deal. They never bother with me for long.”

Ghost sighs. “Yu-mi,” He nudges her skin just above her neck guard with the cones of his shell, “Your fists are clenched so hard on the railing I think you could bend the iron.”

Miyu promptly releases it, the pale white lights under her skin swirling quicker in her embarrassment. “Oops.”

“Just tell them you don't like being called Grey. It's okay not to like it.”

“But then they double down on commentary,” She counters. “At least Grey doesn't sound like an insult.”

“If those Guardians - and their Ghosts - don't notice that you tense up every time they call you that name, they're horrible at their jobs, too. They enjoy getting a rise out of you.”

The thing about Miyu is that she's not a very good Guardian. Doesn't enjoy the Crucible anymore, isn't covert enough to be one of Ikora's hidden, and always gets thrown the tasks no one wants to do in Strikes. She could be a leader, knows ways to make things go more smoothly, but… no one besides Ghost listens to her. Sometimes she swears it's like she speaks but no one can hear her. She knows they're just not listening, and in the last few centuries, since coming to the Tower, she's learned to let it go.

Still, sometimes it nagged at her.

“I wish you would stick up for yourself, just a little. Being assertive isn't wrong, and if you're used to them being rude, it won't matter that you speak up, will it?” That last bit hurts him to say, but it's true. The other Guardians are either outwardly rude, of ignore her entirely. He isn't sure which he feels is better.

For him, though, she's always been willing to try. The sweet little robot that's been guiding her since she woke up somewhere in the Far East, who has always been there for her. Her partner and best - truest - friend. “Fine. The next person who calls me Grey, I'll ask to call me by my real name. Deal?”

“You should be doing this for you,” Ghost says. “Not for me. But,” He sighs, “Fine. Deal.”

-/

The situation arises a few days later, in the early evening. She's making her way through the Courtyard when it happens.

“Grey.”

Her hands ball into fists, and she forces herself to breathe. A Guardian sticks up for themselves against far bigger foes - she's fought wars against enemies all over the system. She had thought about how this would go. She was just going to politely insist that wasn't her name, and everything would be fine.

_“That is NOT my name!”_

Well, she thinks, as the words leave her voice in a scathing-loud, bitter, angry tone, maybe Ghost was onto something when he said he knew it bothered her. At least she hadn’t screamed it out, just raised her voice a little. She whirls around to see who she's just blasted, and it's like the ground has been pulled out from under her, any semblance of an apology on her lips falling to pieces.

“Oh, no. I'm, um - shit!”

The most elegant eyebrows in the Tower arch upward, silently regarding her with a cool gaze, waiting her out.

She sighs, and her Ghost comes to what she hopes is her rescue. “What did you do now?” He teases as she hangs her head. He swivels, sees the Commander and swirls around in a defeated beat. “Figures, the one time you defend yourself, you manage to pick someone important. You just can't catch a break, can you, Yu-mi?”

“Yu-mi?” Commander Zavala looks between the two, curiously now.

“Oh, uh, actually, it’s Miyu,” Ghost offers helpfully. “Her name is Miyu.”

Zavala straightens, brows furrowing as he thinks. Her eyes watch the motions they make. They're very expressive, and incredibly shaped. He says, “Ikora asked for you by that name. Grey.”

She shrugs feeling soundly defeated, but Ghost interjects, “I suspect it's just easier to call her by a moniker everyone knows. My Guardian - Miyu - hates it.”

The Vanguard Commander frowns at that. “Have you told her?”

When she shrugs a second time, she all but plucks Ghost out of the air where he's spinning beside her. He's getting worked up. It isn't worth it, she thinks. “It doesn't matter,” Miyu says quietly. Her voice is smooth, like beach glass. “I don't want to make waves. I'm sorry I yelled at you. I promised my Ghost I would try to be more assertive and instead I was rude.”

Zavala braces her shoulders when she tries to sidestep him and escape his scrutiny. In his typical, overly polite way he replies, “Nonsense. It can prove difficult to stand up for oneself, if you do not usually do so. I apologize for making you uncomfortable, Miyu.”

Her head shoots up at the sound of her name, her glowing silver eyes meeting his ethereal azure ones. She blinks, and the smallest hint of a smile graces her face. The momentary embarrassment of feeling like a Kinderguardian is forgotten. “I guess we're even then, huh?”

He chuckles at that, a rarity in recent times. “Indeed.” His lip quirks just the tiniest bit upward it isn't a smile, but it looks positive. He asks, “By the way, your name, Miyu… what does it mean?”

This time she does smile, while her Ghost trills proudly, “I chose it. It means a gentle truth, in one of the old languages.”

“Pre-Collapse Japanese,” Zavala muses aloud. His knowledge impresses them both. “You have an interesting Ghost.”

“He's wonderful,” Miyu breathes, far more comfortable talking about him than herself. If Ghost could blush though, she's sure he would. He settles for making a few droning beeps that sound rather adorable to her ears. “I'm very lucky.”

“Yes,” Zavala agrees. “The bond between ourselves and our Ghosts is one of the most important we can have as Guardians.” She nods her agreement, and he continues. “Anyway. Miyu.” She stands at attention, sensing the transition to business. “Ikora had asked me to send for you.”

The confusion that crosses her features is gone before it ever truly settles. Reading the mood in the Tower as of late makes this particular outcome surprising, but she nods. “I'll go to her now,” Miyu says. “I hope…” She looks at him, a touch uncomfortable and clearly not willing to speak out of line for the second time in their interaction. “Well, I'll see how she is for myself, won't I?”

“She should be mild,” Zavala tells her. His cool professionalism never wavers, despite the rumors that have run rampant lately. “I believe you had research she was interested in?”

“Uh, yeah,” She mildly stresses. “Research. I should - well, yeah. I'll go see her now. Thank you, Commander.” This time, she goes to walk around him and he allows it.

“Miyu.”

The Warlock turns back. “Yes, Commander?”

“A name is a powerful thing. You mustn't be afraid to assert yourself.”

“I'll try.”

He nods once before carrying on.

Ghost hovers above her shoulder. “Well, that could have gone worse,” He tells her. “Maybe next time you should look before you tell someone off?”

She covers her face with her hands, embarrassment catching up to her. “I can't believe I did that!” She moans into her hands as they head back to the Bazaar to see her Vanguard, feeling like the biggest Kinderguardian in the universe.


	2. A Warlock's Worth

Ikora always wants  _more_.

By research, Ikora actually means to discuss Miyu stopping hers. Focusing on more important matters. The Reef. Uldren. Miyu wants nothing to do with any of it, and that is why she had willingly offered her services detaining escapees from the Prison of Elders despite not actually wanting to do that at all.

It gives Miyu time to actually complete some more secretive research on the side: why her Light is messed up. Why it feels like when she received hers back, after the war, it felt like it belonged to someone else, the person she used to be but wasn’t any more, coiling uneasily beneath her skin. She’s gone to Io. The Shard. Both under the guise of hunting escapees, but also to seek answers.

Neither place does and very day, the solar sword is more difficult to grasp, wings of flame beyond her reach. Telling her Vanguard that didn’t work. Ikora didn’t understand. The Void has always been at her fingertips, for as long as she’s been connected to the Traveler. With that in mind, Miyu attempts to adapt her argument, listens to Ikora insisting that she push herself and hopes that eventually either her own efforts or Ikora’s reasoning pays off.

Ikora still demands an answer, though. Wants Miyu to give her something. So, Miyu presents her personal thoughts. Based on her research, she finds that her connection to the Light is strongest while meditating or calling upon her abilities in the midst of a healing rift. Ikora is not impressed. Miyu isn’t expecting her to be. She tells Ikora the truth - that she does not believe offensive maneuvers are her true calling, not anymore. It’s something she’s believed for a while now. She can hear Ghost cheering her on in her mind for being honest - for expressing her opinion. That was rare. Miyu hated doing so, especially when she knew it was going to be an unpopular one.

Ikora, in response, cites battles, strikes, accolades. Ikora always measures a Warlock’s worth in accolades.

Miyu measures a person - Guardian, Human, Exo, Awoken, whatever - in terms of character. Heart. Sometimes she thinks that’s why she just doesn’t fit in with her more intellectual colleagues, aside from not being sneaky and clever like the Hidden or having half the honors or titles that Ikora’s top-tier Warlocks have. Put a sword in her hands and Miyu can cut down almost anyone or anything. But have her infiltrate a group and act a certain way, play a role of some sort? She’ll fail right away.

She is not an actress. She’s a Guardian. And to her knowledge, the definition of a Guardian is someone who protects. There has to be some merit in that, she’s told Ghost, and he - her best friend and most honest critic - agrees.

Ikora - Miyu thinks - must not think much of her. Still, the Void user pulls her back from her thoughts with praise. “Grey,” She says, “You are so much more than you give yourself credit for. You need to push yourself harder. Do not give up. I know you are better than this.”

It’s times like this that she wonders. Does Ikora know what her name is, really? Does Ikora even care? Miyu is beginning to think she’s just a faceless person, a puzzle that is challenging and therefore worth the more esteemed woman’s time. Ikora gave her hardly any face-time before the war, before she had these issues.

Regardless, the quieter Warlock attempts to retain her composure. “Thank you. However, I would like to pursue my research on a more defensive Solar ability,” Miyu says, barely a whisper of defiance. “I believe it is possible.”

Ikora shakes her head. “Leave shielding for the Titans. A Warlock’s rift is not meant to protect. It is meant to heal or empower, and only briefly. Attempting to augment it is a waste of Light better spent on dispatching our enemies.”

Miyu sighs, but nods. “What would you have me do, then?”

The Warlock Vanguard crosses her arms, turns her back to Miyu and looks out at the City. “Take the most difficult Strikes and Patrols I can give you. Challenge yourself and you will find yourself calling upon your abilities more. If that does not help you to realign yourself with your Light,” She trails off, eyes narrowing on a fixed point beyond the horizon, “I will explore other paths. Your research is unnecessary at this time. If you require a project, I will send you to collect information from the Reef.”

Miyu bows. “I understand,” She says, schooling her features into something blank, and trying to sound collected and grateful, not detached and indifferent. “Thank you.”  This won’t help. She’s already tried this, Miyu thinks, but tries not to let it bleed into her demeanor.

“You’re welcome, Grey. You may go.”

Miyu turns her back to Ikora Rey, but waits until she is nearly to Banshee’s stall in the main portion of the Tower to let the frustration show on her face, a very quiet growl escaping her. Ghost appears at her side immediately. “I can’t believe she wouldn’t listen to you,” He says, sounding even more irritated than Miyu is. “I’m sorry,” He apologizes to her. “But I think you should keep working on it.”

“So do I.”

Ghost bobs, spinning around her in a wide circle of disbelief. “You do?”

“Yes.” Silver eyes cant over toward her Ghost’s single teal one. “I’ll do what she asks, and continue my research on my own. What else can I do?”

He sighs. “I know. I just wish it had gone differently.” He taps her cheek. “If you could have convinced her to watch you summon your-”

“We asked that the last two times and she refused. It’s okay, Ghost. I’m used to it being just you and me.” She reaches up to cup his small being with her hands, and holds him close. “Sometimes, I think it’s better that way.”

Ghost nuzzles against her abdomen in a return of their improvised hug, and wonders not for the first time if she considers leaving. He knows she doesn’t feel like she belongs here, that she’s trying so hard to fit into the roles dictated by social norms. Most of her fellow Guardians hurt her with their lack of understanding, their taunts. Most of them do not know how it feels to have their Light feel foreign to them. Still, she remains as gentle as she can, does her best to be kind to everyone she meets. It’s no wonder they don’t live within the confines of the Tower. The City folk are far kinder to his wayward Guardian than her own brothers and sisters. It’s a shame.

-/

Three days later, news hits the Tower. Cayde-6's killer has been eliminated. Almost everyone is celebrating. Miyu uses the general population's distraction to her advantage, slipping out to the training grounds recently restored near the base of the wall. There should be free space for her to experiment unseen, a rarity in the middle of the day.

She discards her gauntlets and lets the heavy, flame-retardant sleeves of her robes hang down over her palms. Pulls her sword from its sheath at her side. Ghost flutters around her, cones spinning silently in anticipation a safe distance away. She drops to her starting position, kicks off.

What she does not have in stealth or strength, she makes up with in skill. Some of it, Ghost believes, may have been written upon her from her first life, muscle memory and reflexes allowing her to pick up swordplay far more easily than ever anticipated. But not all of it. She worked hard to hone her skills, consulted archives and videos, took every ounce of criticism to heart.

He enjoys watching her dance throughout the training arena with her blade slashing out, parrying imaginary blows, each move fluid yet moving with unbelievable discipline and precision. However, he knows it will come soon. Can feel the tingle of Light, the increasing heat. She’s going to try without the rift. She always does, first. When her mind is clear, when she’s reached that place of blank-white concentration.

The Warlock sheaths her physical blade in a motion like lightning, before reaching out for the heat in the air, calling upon the Light in her soul to manifest the sword that answers the call of her heart. It always looks so effortless from afar.

It isn’t, though. He watches her throw the first one, scorching the dirt. Watches her call upon the second. Watches the flames spiral up her arm, paying no heed to her robes. Watches her grit her teeth and give form to the energy in her hand. This one doesn’t go as far, doesn’t track like the first.

The third fizzles into ash, blackens her fingertips. She screams, drops to her knees, slams her fists into the dirt. He doesn’t approach. He knows she wants to feel this, to commit it to memory - as if she hasn’t already, he thinks, but allows it to continue - and use it to fuel her. It’s how Ikora believes she will improve. Miyu doesn’t believe in it, but she tries anyway. He knows she’d try anything, to feel like herself again.

This is torture, but it’s therapeutic. She needs to let it out, to blaze, like the fiery powers locked inside her, refusing to come out the way they’re supposed to. The way they always had, before the Cabal had ripped them away by force.

Any changes in her personality, since the war, have been subtle. He notices the way her swordhand twitches after she lets the blades burn through her nerves. Can tell that where she might say ten words once, she now says six or five. Notices that where she’d try to be social once in a while, it takes a great deal of encouragement to convince her to approach a friendly face.

Ghost’s cones push out and then back in, spiraling around him in surprise as someone appears on his radar. Someone approaching, quickly. At a run. Miyu is pushing herself up, the rush of a healing rift spiraling out from beneath her. She doesn’t notice.

Another attempt is made to call upon the sword. She growls and braces her sword hand - gripping her left wrist with her right hand. Flames spit and spiral up both arms this time, fighting for purchase against the healing properties of the rift.

“Mi- Miyu?”

The small AI turns at the sound of the familiar voice.  _Oh, no._


	3. It's Different Now

A voice bellows her name, puncturing her concentration in such a way that it feels like coming up for air. “Miyu!”

She knows that voice, she realizes. It’s the Commander.

When the realization fully processes and she realizes she doesn't know how long he's been watching, her head rockets up, the rift and solar fire dissipate immediately. Her hands fall to her sides, covered thankfully by her sleeves. She can feel the tingling prickle of numbness that indicates she’s burned herself severely, despite the rift. She sighs and straightens from her throwing stance.

Zavala jumps down from the spectating balcony dressed in a cotton training tunic and lacking most of his armor, with the exception of his mark. It flaps quietly as he lands on the ground in the arena, knees easily accepting the impact of the fall. He runs toward her, concern evident in the brightness of his eyes and set of his jaw.

“What were you doing?” He stands before her now. “I heard a scream.”

“Oh,” The Warlock sighs. “Sorry, Commander. Something hurt more than I thought it would. I didn’t mean to-” She looks down at his sweat-soaked training gear in surprise. She had expected to be the only one here, today of all days. “-disturb you from your drills?”

The Vanguard Commander nods and she notices his slightly heavier breathing.  “It’s fine. You are unharmed?”

“I’m fine,” She agrees.

Ghost hangs nearby, his optic narrowing on her in concern. Zavala looks up at him in turn, and the small being hovers backward, clearly caught. “You are not,” The Vanguard says quietly, “Are you?” His scrutiny is unbearable.

She moves to tuck her arms behind her back, to mimic the pose he usually takes, when he looks over the City from his post in the Tower. If she can get them behind her back, he -

Zavala grabs her left forearm with his right hand. Miyu hisses. His brows raise, eyes narrowing as he turns her palm over and peels back the sleeve of her robe. He gasps. Blistered, bubbling skin, pink and red and black, weeping and angry meets the light of day.

  
“How did-”

She snatches her arm from his grasp, ignoring the watering of her eyes. “I’m very sorry for interrupting you,” She repeats quietly. “My Ghost will heal me. It’s fine.” She turns her back to him, looks to her partner, and takes several steps before breaking into a run. It’s clear she does not want Zavala to follow her.

The Commander does anyway, taking measured, calm steps, her Ghost at his side, looking fretful. “Miyu is having difficulty with her Light, I’m sure you’ve noticed,” The little Light explains. “After the war… it - we didn’t,” He doesn’t know how to explain it and finally sighs. “It’s different now.”

The duo finds the Warlock braced over one of the sinks in the empty locker room, robe discarded carelessly on the ground, using her right hand - the less burned one - to splash water on her face. Being so pale in complexion, the redness of her eyes and cheeks immediately drew attention to the chaotic swirling of white aura beneath her normally equally light skin.

“Miyu,” Both Titan and Ghost say, before looking at each other in curious surprise. Zavala blinks, but lets her Ghost take the floor.

Ghost speaks. “Miyu, let me heal you,” He calls gently. “That has to hurt.” She cradles the damaged arm against her chest, her undershirt already soaked with sweat and water turning pink with plasma and blood on contact. Her eyes dart to him, and he turns to the Commander. “Give us a moment,” The Ghost implores. “Please.”

Zavala nods and retreats back into the hallway.

Pale light casts a shadow of his hulking form against the stone floor when her Ghost shucks his shell and swathes her in the glow. The Commander hears the combined sigh of Ghost and Guardian, and a quiet metallic gargle when the Ghost speaks to her. “It’s okay,” He’s telling her. Zavala feels a touch rude for listening in, though there’s no way for him to tune them out in the echoing, empty halls. “He’s worried, not mad. Just… talk to him, okay? Maybe he can help.”

Ghost transmats her soiled training robe away for a softer one. Her skin stayed sensitive afterward, sometimes - the Light not healing it all, not really, and he was always mindful of her needs. She held her hand out for him to rest when she exits the locker room, and Ghost drops to her hand - accepting an affectionate nudge of her fingers against his cones - before disappearing in a shower of sparks.

“Your Ghost cares about you a great deal,” Zavala says, echoing previous words. He does not make eye contact, like she’s expecting. She’s not sure if she’s grateful or feels like she’s being treated like a caged animal. “He said you have been experiencing difficulties with your Light, since the War.”

She nods her agreement, looking sheepish. “Both of those things are true.”

This time, he does meet her pale gaze. “Have you talked to Ikora about it? Certainly she’d be willing to help you.”

Miyu looks away, and shrugs. “I’ll do that,” She says, but his eyes don’t leave her face, staying trained on it - reading it - despite the fact that she’s looking at the ground.

“You have, haven’t you,” He intones, gently. “You’ve talked to her about this.”

The sideways pull of her lips in a disapproving frown is a giveaway. “Maybe once or twice,” She admits. Certainly more than that, but she’s not in the business of putting down her Vanguard.

“Does she not listen?”

“She doesn’t understand,” Miyu finally says, a bit more abruptly than she’d planned to. “She doesn’t understand how my Light can be so different from what it was before. I don’t think I’m supposed to use it in the way the Dawnblades do. Not anymore.” A peek up at his face reveals pensive concern, not condemnation. It spurs her onward. “She believes pushing me into the worst situations possible will help me to reconnect. But-”

  
“That is a terrible idea,” Zavala says, mostly to himself. He looks up at her in surprise, as if he can’t believe he’s said it out loud, but then admits, “While the Light may very well react if you feel threatened, if it does not, the cost…” He trails off, looks back at her, contemplative. The conflicted look on her face tells him that she’s thought of that, as well.

Miyu leans back against the wall, crossing her arms. “How does a Titan - a Sentinel,” She specifies, asking, “Call upon their Ward of Dawn?”

His brows furrow. “Not that I mind,” He holds out both hands as if demonstrating that her question is not unwelcome, “But what does this have to do with our conversation?”

The Awoken Warlock steps past him, looks down the hall to the empty training arena. “I believe that my Light might be better served in a more defensive manner. That perhaps my rift might hold the key.”

Rubbing a hand against his chin, Zavala thinks it over. “Your research,” He recalls. “You are trying to unlock a different type of ability.”

She nods, a little twinge of a smile here and gone when she faces him again. He understood her immediately, and yet Ikora… she didn’t seem to understand despite Miyu’s attempts at being transparent. “I think I might be able to use my Light, specifically, maybe to not hurt myself, or at least let it last longer, if I try something different. Something with a focus on healing. Protecting.” She reaches up for her ashen black hair, combs her fingers through some of the tangles. “After all, isn’t that our purpose? To protect? If I want to reconnect to my Light, I think that might be the way to do it.”

He still gives her Vanguard the benefit of the doubt, saying, “Certainly Ikora would be interested in-”

Miyu shakes her head and Zavala stops short. “Maybe it will change, but…” She shrugs. “She wants me in the Reef. Up until today, I think she wanted me to help find Uldren.” Zavala doesn’t react to the name, though Miyu watches him carefully. “I don’t want anything to do with that.”

“What do you want?” Zavala asks her. Not judgmental. Neutral. Perhaps curious, just a little.

“I want to feel like me again. I want to prevent what happened - what the Cabal did,” Her fists clench. “I don’t ever want it to happen to us, ever again.” She sighs. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to unload on you. I know Ghost said you’d hear me out, but this - it isn’t your problem.”

“No,” He agrees. “But perhaps I can help. I’ll show you how my power manifests, and let you determine if the Ward of Dawn could assist you in your search for answers. However, we cannot do it now. My schedule is-”

The apology stumbles from her lips as she realizes how much of his valuable time she’s taken. He was trying to train, too. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t-”

“Stop apologizing, Miyu. It is not your fault I am the Vanguard Commander.” This time, his lips do almost make it to what would be considered a smile, and his tone is nearly teasing. “I lead the Titans in drills most mornings, before dawn, in the training facilities here. You’re welcome to come spectate, if it will help. The schedule should be posted.”

She bows, pressing her hands together. “Thank you,” She chimes. “I appreciate it.”

“I hope you find what you are looking for,” He replies, and his hand finds his way to her shoulder, a gentle squeeze. An affirmation that someone beyond her Ghost might actually care. It makes her flush. “I cannot imagine…”

“It’s difficult,” Miyu admits, voice quiet. “I don’t know if it was because I was in the middle of casting Dawnblade when the Traveler was captured and the Light was ripped from us,” The words are a whisper that she’s not shared with anyone besides Ghost, who was there. “But it feels like it’s all there, you know?” He doesn’t, she knows, but he doesn’t interrupt. She sees the uncomfortable shift in his stance, knows that from his perspective she’s describing something horrific he never hopes to experience. “I can feel the Light there, to be called upon. It just… won’t come out all the way.” She shrugs. “Anyway,” She transitions, not paying attention to the brilliant eyes that soften as they listen to her resolve, “There has to be a reason. I’ll figure it out and persevere. That’s what we do.”

-/

That evening, when she finishes up her late patrols and checks in, Kadi, the postmaster, has a message for her. The frame produces two books, old ones. Tucked within the cover of the first one is a small note, written on thick ivory paper with neat handwriting.

She doesn’t need to know his handwriting to know it’s from him, the two symbols denoting her name in its proper, original form tipping her off. Pre-Collapse Japanese, he’d said, when he learned her name. It brings a smile to her lips. He seemed like the kind of man who would know about languages, how to read and write them. She found herself curious as to what he’d write her, after their encounter earlier in the afternoon.

\--

実優

_Perhaps these texts would prove useful. I am not sure how the translation would be made between the Void and Solar energies as they are very different, but it might be worth a read._

_I will be focusing on training my new Sentinels in two days’ time, at the place and time we discussed. Afterward, I anticipate being free long enough to answer your questions, should you have any._

_-Zavala_

\--

Ghost looked down at the paper, then back up at her face and the pleasant surprise he sees there. “See,” He says, “What did I tell you, Yu-mi? He might be able to help. At the very least, he wants to.”

Miyu smiles. “Yes,” She agrees, cradling the books to her chest and letting Ghost rest atop them as they head home for the night. “You never steer me wrong.”


	4. Candles and Bonfires

She makes sure to get there early. Ghost is barely awake - which is saying something for a being that does not actually require sleep like she does. Quietly, carefully, she withdraws her notepad from her bag and rests it carefully atop the books he’d lent her. Her hand is cramping a bit this morning, likely from training the night before, but she ignores it as she holds her pen. It will pass. The skin is healed, the regenerated nerves just aren’t immune to the knowledge of what they’d suffered. She focuses, meditating on what she’s read in the last day or so, and waits for Zavala and his trainees to arrive.

A lot of what she’d read was philosophical. What it meant to be a Titan. What they stood for. At first, she’d believed it to be impractical to rely on such knowledge. But, as she read onward, she realized he’d chosen these texts for a reason. He was hoping for her to find a commonality.

Light could be - and often was - measured in terms of enemies vanquished, in the amount of time the Guardian can manifest the pinnacle of their bond to the Traveler. She knows her benchmarks, and clearly he believes she’s measured them (she has). It was incredibly flattering, she felt, for him to care as he did. Not to say that he didn’t have some connection to her, being the leader of the Vanguard, but even so. The fact that he’d had a short conversation with her and still managed - despite his schedule - to select books for her to read meant a lot.

She’d joked with Ghost that she must be pathetic if one person being nice meant such a great deal to her, that maybe she needed to get out more. She didn’t miss the sad twitch of his cones. Miyu knows he’s worried, and this isn’t something that gets fixed with hugs and conversation. They’ve talked themselves in circles about her Light. She needs to find a way to fix it. For Ghost, for herself, for everyone else who is counting on her - whether they realize it or not.

In the course of her thoughts on the subject, she’s considered the liability she is for teammates on strikes. She could, in an emergency, draw up the necessary power - she hopes - for Dawnblade in its entirety. But it would maim her, easily, if not worse. She’d be useless after that. And in a Darkness Zone… it was suicide. A last resort.

At last, Zavala emerges from one of the training corridors, eight Titans in tow. Three women, based on their builds, two exo males, and one very tall, slender Awoken male followed the Vanguard closely. Two others walked further behind the main group. Based on their measured, confident gait, and the gear that looked a bit higher quality than that of the others, she guessed they might not be as new as the rest.

The Titans’ Vanguard immediately set about making them work through a series of drills - warm-ups - to get the blood flowing. His eyes cant up to her, and she nods to him. His face was impassive, unreadable, and he returns his gaze to the rest of the group after a single blink.

Afterward, he begins discussing their connection to the Void. “The Void’s voracity,” He imparts, voice carrying loud enough for her to hear, “While certainly a factor to consider, is not nearly as demanding within us as it is in Warlocks and Hunters. It does, however, require a clear mind and true intent to wield, all the same. Even if your resolve is not to care how many fall at your feet,” Zavala continues. “You must become impenetrable. Your body a shield, your Light a wall. A fortress in which your allies may seek refuge from the storm.”

It takes time for the Light to well inside a Guardian. While Zavala gives them that time, he calls upon his Traveler-given ability. Cool, lavender-violet light surrounds him in a bubble of unstoppable Light. She can feel the cool ripple of Void energy, even as far away from him as she is. It’s different from the handful of times she’s seen Ikora utilize her Nova Bomb. The hunger that the Void feels is muted, as if he is doing to the Void what the Void does to others. Feeding off of it, and it off of him. A cyclic event, she hypothesizes, jotting down a brief summary of it.

The hazy-cool pulse of it makes whatever he says to his students impossible for her to hear, but she watches with interest as he stops bracing the dome of light and allows it to simply exist. She is certain that newer, unsteady Titans would likely have to brace the entire time, which is effective as a defensive maneuver, but for an experienced Titan - and from her experience working with some of them - it is actually a small pocket of space summoned to give them an advantage.

He shows them what it feels like to be shielded within the Ward, stepping out of it and back in with each of them in turn. An overshield - she knew about this perk of the Titan’s ability. They all radiate a similar pale purple when they step inside, making their forms look extremely distorted from her outsider’s point of view.

Later, after exhausting them with calling upon their own fledgling abilities, he invites them all to attempt to break his shield.

He stands inside it plainly, arms at his sides. Does not move to attack. Does not attempt to defend. A cockier man would sit down within it and close his eyes, wait for it to be over. Maybe even make a snarking comment at the fact that there was not even a ripple in his Ward, that it sustained minimal damage. Zavala does not. When they are all panting, overwhelmed by their leader’s great strength and resolve, he encourages them to take a break, water themselves and then join him in meditating on what they have learned before returning to the Tower to begin their day.

Miyu follows along, returning to the bleachers instead of standing beside one of the structural supports, allowing breath to fill her lungs and her mind to clear. Meditation is centering, and she allows herself to reflect on her questions, on Solar and Void, their burning demanding need to consume and feed.

_Feed the void and it grows colder. Numbs. Consumes._

_Feed a solar fire and it grows hotter. Burns. Consumes._

She repeats the mantra until she drifts away.

When her eyes opens, she sees a candle. One singular light against the darkness all around her.

 _“What can one light do,_ ” A warped voice asks,  _“When faced with such overwhelming darkness?”_

The question is rhetorical, she thinks. The Warlock commits the sight to memory and chooses to observe. She approaches the candle hovering in midair before her.

_“The Light lives in all places, in all things.”_

Miyu repeats the words. Somewhere. She thinks she’s heard this somewhere.

 _“You can block it, even try to trap it,”_  It continues,  _“But the Light WILL find its way.”_

There is a pause, as the candle’s light grows, crackling and spitting as the flames give way to a roaring fire. The twisted voice softens, and the flames consume her but do not hurt. It has been so long since the fire of her Light has not burned.

_“Even in you, though broken you may seem.”_

Her eyes flash open and Ghost is hovering in front of her, looking concerned. “You were mumbling,” He says. “You never mumble when you meditate. What-”

Miyu’s chest heaves as her eyes widen, her words rushing out quietly. “I think I... had a vision.”

“You what?” Ghost stares at her. “About what?”

“The Light,” His Guardian says, voice low but giddy. “Candles. Bonfires. It’s - I don’t know how to explain it.”

“We should talk to Ikora,” The small AI tells her. “She will know what to-” Ghost shrugs his shell and groans. “You’re shaking your head no. Why are you shaking your head no?”

“I don’t - She isn’t who I want to talk to about this,” Miyu whispers. “Can we talk to Zavala instead? He said he’d answer my questions, anyway.”

Ghost bobs up and down, thinking. “I suppose… but, if he suggests talking to Ikora, you should.”

Miyu scoffs. “You know he will.”

“I do,” Ghost agrees. “But there’s no reason why you shouldn’t get both of their opinions, right?” He understands and agrees with her reservations about Ikora, but there’s no doubt that she is the most knowledgeable person in the Tower and best equipped to discuss this with his Guardian. “If you don’t agree with her, that’s fine, Yu-mi. But you should hear her out. She is your Vanguard.”

“Fine,” The Warlock agrees, reluctantly.

A small drone and a flash of light alerts them to the presence of another Ghost. “Hi,” She says, in a child-like, sweet voice as she swivels to regard them both. “Zavala wanted me to let you know that he’s been called away. He said that you should check in with him later, if you have a moment. When I figure out when he also has a moment,” She says in a child’s version of sarcasm,” I’ll ping your Ghost.”

Miyu nods, a bit caught off guard by the tone of the rather formidable man’s Ghost. She’d expected it to be an icy, frigid female, or a similarly reserved male. Instead of voicing such a thought, the Warlock simply insists, “That is fine.” The Ghost spins and prepares to transmat back to her Guardian in reply. “Um, Ghost, I-” The little bot turns back to her, single eye blinking curiously. “Thank him for me, please. This was helpful.”

“I will!” She chirps, bobbing excitedly as she departs.

When she’s gone, Miyu’s partner says, “Huh. That was not what I was expecting.”

“Me neither,” The Warlock agrees.


	5. Choosing One's Battles

She doesn’t actually get a free chance to see the Commander (in which he is also free for more than a polite greeting) for more than a week after attending his Titans’ workshop. Ikora sends her into the maw of Saturn, to experience the Tangled Shore. Her tasks include collecting Hive specimens and neutralizing priority targets.

It also includes seemingly endless combat. The Hive are relentless. In the shadow of the Dreadnought they fight the Scorn, pausing only to combine forces against her. There is no safe place, the further she tunnels into the caverns of festering husk and larvae, to heal should she need it. Her rift can still heal bullet holes, but not her charred arm in addition to them. Certainly even less under live fire.

She’s fought the Hive for centuries, it feels. Her sword is voracious enough that she feels comfortable cutting through them, for the most part. But their numbers are uncountable here. Where one falls, three take its place.

The result is slow-moving progress and several (very) desperate attempts to shield Ghost while he heals her failing body. Miyu returns to Ikora precisely ten days, three hours and four minutes after she’d been deployed. Ikora looks unimpressed.

Miyu is too groggy to give a damn, having had Ghost auto-pilot her return from the Shore just so she could actually sleep. While Guardians could exist without, sleep was essential to peak performance, and everyone knew it. She shifts uncomfortably in her Hive-ichar stained robes, waiting for Ikora to dismiss her so she can shower and sleep in her own bed.

Ikora does not do any of those things. Ikora instead determines that she should go to Mars, and assist with containing the Hive there.

“More Hive,” Miyu comments drollishly before she can help herself. It comes out in her featherlight voice though, so it doesn’t sound so patronizing.

“Grey, the Hive -” Miyu clenches her fists, and Ghost’s presence in her mind attempts to flood her with calm while Ikora speaks, “- want your Light. They are drawn to it. Your Light will protect itself, though you. Unfortunately that means putting yourself in harm’s way, but for the greater good.”

Miyu sighs and nods. She knows this. She’s done research on the subject herself. Enough research for all of her lifetimes.

“Only for a few days,” Ikora tells her. “To give me time to see about other arrangements. Return to me at the end of the week.”

-/

On Mars, she summons her sword. Her vision burns white - still a single candle. She cannot see, but the sword she’s trying to throw is too heavy to lift with one arm - and the flames in her vision are hot agony as they consume. She blinks back to herself, her body ablaze. A Severing Knight slices her clean through. It’s a mercy.

-/

Ten hours later, it’s a Hive Wizard who blasts her across Hellas Basin when she tries to call upon her abilities once more. She looks like a comet, a streaking, dying star. She wakes up with Ana Bray beside her, discussing something animatedly over quiet comms.

“Send her home, Anastasia.”

“Hey, I’m not about to argue with you on this one,” The Hunter shoots back quickly. “I know that worried-angry voice of yours.”

“You do,” He rumbles, “And yet you purposely ignore it when you defy me.”

She laughs nervously. “I mean, it’s in the name of the greater good, Zavala -” Said Titan growls, just enough to be picked up over the line “- alright, fine,” The overzealous Hunter relents for once. There’s a pause. Miyu can see the shadow of someone leaning over her through her closed eyelids. “I think she’s waking up.”

There’s a twitch between her palms that lets her know Ghost is cradled between her hands. She barely, gently, squeezes and releases him, groaning as she attempts to rise. Ana puts a hand behind her, to prevent her from falling back on what she assumes is supply crates.

“Easy,” The Hunter encourages. “That wasn’t a good trip.”

Ghost flutters around her and nods. She blinks over to him and he twists anxiously, looking like he’s about to speak.

“You’re coming back to the Tower,” Zavala’s voice calls over the comms. “This is madness. If Ikora has an issue, I will address it myself.”

Ana flips the mute switch. “He's… really angry.” She flips it back.

“Commander-”

“That is an order.”

Miyu sighs. “Understood.”

“Report to me when you get settled,” Zavala instructs. “I will be waiting.”

He cuts the line after that. Miyu doesn’t get a chance to thank Ana before she’s brushed aside by some chattering of Rasputin that sounds apparently very important to the crypto-linguistic researcher. For the best. She feels like garbage, but at least Zavala made it sound like she might be able to change into something clean before parading through the Tower.

-/

It’s late when she takes the lift up to the top level of the Tower. She checks his post first, but he’s gone. Ghost steers her toward the command centre next, looking for the frequency of the Commander’s ghost in a wide, sweeping scan.

Her robes are clean, unremarkable ones, devoid of armor beneath. It is never too late for a fight, Shaxx would say, but she wants nothing more than a warm mug of tea and a good night’s sleep. The command centre is mostly empty, so she realizes it must be later than she thought.

Zavala sits at the end of a long table, mug beside him and tablet propped up on a large palm. His eyes rise to meet her when she enters the room, and he motions to the seat beside him before finishing what he’s doing.

She obliges him and sits quietly. Ghost appears in a flutter of sparks. “Ikora,” He says, minding his volume, “Received word that you returned early. She is unhappy-”

Miyu sighs. “Tell her I will see her in the-”

“That,” A serious voice calls from behind Zavala, “Is unnecessary. I’ll have answers now.”

The Commander sets down his tablet, powering it down without looking. “I called her back,” Zavala says, turning in his chair. “Do you require her for a task?”

Ikora looks exasperated. “Her training is necessary, Zavala. What business-”

“Her training nearly saw her ghost razed by Splinter Knights. I am removing her from active duty.”

“Grey needs the exposure.” Ikora’s golden gaze cants over the quiet Warlock.

Zavala bristles before the thought occurs to Ikora’s exhausted subordinate. “Her name is Miyu, and she needs time to heal.”

Miyu’s hands twitch under the table. Ghost looks at her before regarding the other two Guardians. The tension is palpable between them.

“You are an expert on Dawnblades, are you?”

“No,” Zavala concedes, “But-”

“But nothing,” Ikora snips. “Grey,” She says, the moniker acidic on her tongue, “You will return to Mars.”

Miyu does not move, even before Ghost tells her to stay silent through their neural link. This is not about her, he imparts to his charge, not really.

“No,” Zavala refutes. “She will not.”

Ikora snarls at that, and the hungry-angry-cold ripple of her power is felt by everyone in the room. She reigns it in seconds later. “Is she allowed in the Crucible, then? Or is that too much for her, too?” Cold eyes slide over the Awoken Warlock’s face, her posture bowed. “Think of how it must sound to her, listening to us quarrel. What an impact you’re making, Zavala.” Her patronizing tone is honeyed and that much more rage inducing.

Zavala clenches his fists. “If you desire it, she will report to the Crucible at first light,” He tells Ikora. “You may otherwise proceed how you wish, but any missions - recon or otherwise - will be approved by me.”

Ikora whirls around and stalks away. She does not dignify him with a response.

When it’s just the two of them, Zavala reclines in his chair with a restrained sigh. Miyu purposely looks away, despite straightening her posture.

After some time, he speaks. “What happened today,” Zavala says, “I don’t believe it was benefiting you. I am sure Ikora has your best interests at heart, however…”

“Sending her to Mars was foolish,” Ghost chimes, hovering over the desk.

When that brings the Commander’s gaze upon her, Miyu blushes.

“What do you think?” He asks her, slowly. His bright eyes search her face. “Everyone else has spoken. What say you?”

Miyu chances a look into his luminous glowing eyes. She sighs. “I think-” She grimaces. “I do not wish to make things worse between you and Ikora.”

“Nevermind that,” Zavala replies. His voice is stern. “You are the one who does not feel like yourself. What do you need?”

Ghost blinks over at her. She sighs and rises to her feet. Her quiet voice carries well in the silence. She paces, speaking, “I’m not sure, but… Can we go elsewhere? There is something that happened, during the training… and on Mars and I… I would like to discuss it with you.”

The Commander’s brow furrows, but he acquiesces, rising to his feet.  “Lead the way.”


	6. Speaking Plainly

Her steps are far lighter those of the man beside her. Though it has become Autumn, the evening breeze is warm and carries hints of Summer still within it. It billows her robes, makes her pull them tightly to her. Gives away the true shape of her curves beneath the blue and black blend of reinforced cottons.

Instead of leading him to his post, she opts to dart down a service corridor and onto a catwalk below the main level. She does not desire to draw the attention of her brethren. Beside her, Ghost hovers, his optic watching her, impatient for her to speak.

Zavala's eyes bore into the side of her head, similarly waiting for her to begin. She can sense his impatience - though mild it may be.

She thinks for a moment about what to say, how to present it. All the things she'd practiced saying, ways she'd hoped to tell him are white static in her mind. It’s frustrating, seeing as she’d had plenty of time to prepare. A moment passes. She takes a deep breath and exhales, nervously.

“I had a vision,” She says, softly. “I think-” He leans in - whether it’s interest or her being too quiet, she can’t tell. He clenches his jaw as she breathes, “During the training. I think the Traveler was speaking to me.”

There's mostly silence as he processes. The wind is buffeted here, so only a small breeze tousles her hair and makes it sway much like the mark on Zavala's hip.

“During the training,” He queries, “When?”

“The meditation you guided them through. I adapted it to my own purposes, but…”

“What did Ikora have to say about this?”

Miyu shakes her head. “Commander, if I may be completely transparent…” 

He nods, his intense gaze never leaving her face. She meets it, her eyes narrowing, glowing silver-white irises bright in the dim light. “Ikora is not listening to me. I feel more comfortable talking to you.” She looks away, then, hoping he sees through her words. She hasn’t told Ikora. She does not want to tell Ikora.

His posture straightens more, if that's possible, and he untucks his hands from behind his back. The snappish bloom of anger in her chest that she's been holding back, that she feels toward her Vanguard, is the only thing keeping her from blushing at the confession.

He doesn't say anything, and Ghost bobs intently next to her. Encouraging. She sighs. “The visions,” She chances a glance back to at him and he's still watching her intently, “They were both similar. The first was more intense. The second was, but… it was not... at an opportune time.”

“I see.” He looks down for a moment then takes her left hand - her sword hand - in his gloved one. Her fingers twitch when he gently turns her hand over, looking at the pads of her fingers, her starlight-laiden, unblemished palm. “Nerve damage?” He asks.

She shrugs. “It doesn't hurt, really. I think we retain some imprint of our deaths. Although, I don't always require resurrection, so perhaps my Light is unwilling to heal me completely.”

He’s shaking his head when she gazes up at him. She can read sympathy in his gaze. She does not want his pity. She will figure this out. She has to. Just… on her own time.

“Don’t pity me,” She murmurs, gazing out at the Traveler. “Please.”

“I do not,” He assures her. “I simply wish I had a way to relate.”

“No,” She says, the smallest quirk of her lips into a gentle smile. “You do not. That’s alright, Commander.” She turns away from him then, pacing across the small expanse of catwalk unoccupied by crates and storage containers. “So,” She says, redirecting as she paces. “My visions. Both times it started as one candle that turned into a bonfire.” She closes her eyes, recalling it as she spins back to face him, pacing back. “The second time? On Mars? I was mid-cast. The vision was the same, but the flames hurt me. I’m sure it was because I was casting Dawnblade as it happened. But-”

She makes a small ‘oof’ as she collides with his side, eyes still closed. He braces her without thinking, large hands wrapping around her arms. Her eyes open then, the color of snowflakes and starlight very close to his cerulean gaze. She’s too deep in thought to be embarrassed, her eyes locking on his.

Black brows furrow, and her nose scrunches, as she recalls, “The sword felt heavy. Like I should have used two hands, or maybe I wasn't supposed to throw it at all.”

“How does that instance relate to the first?” He queries softly, his voice low but just a touch louder than a whisper.

“I think that I was onto something. The books you lent me-” Her eyes widen and she takes a step back, “I never thanked you,” She says almost breathlessly, speaking fast. “They were a huge help.”

Zavala’s eyes do something strange then, when he tips his head down just fractionally to hold her gaze. It makes her feel warm. It isn’t strange, but rather different. She can see an endearing sort of amusement in his gaze. It’s as though he’s smiling but without moving his mouth.

“I am glad,” He tells her, sincerely so. Then, he redirects her, setting their conversation back on track. “You said you were onto something?”

She nods, eagerly enough. “The Ward of Dawn. Would you… show me again?” She cocks her head to the side. “Perhaps, up close? … If you don’t mind?”

“As it stands, I have some free time tomorrow.”

“Before I’m thrown head-first into the Crucible?” The tiny, rueful grin on her face falls at his serious gaze.

“Not that early, no.” She looks a way in a clear attempt not to convey her disappointment. “Another time, though. Soon.”

Her head swings back around, and she leans in. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, Co-”

“There’s no need to be so formal, Miyu. I am happy to help, in any way that I can.”

She beams at him, then, throwing her arms around his midsection in a hug. He clears his throat around the same time she realizes she’s just embraced the Vanguard Commander like they’re long lost friends. Her cheeks stain a rosy pink as she panics, withdrawing quickly.

She almost misses his hand patting her shoulder gently, sliding down her arm as she steps back.

“I appreciate this,” Miyu says bashfully. “More than you know.”

“I can tell,” He replies with just a touch of mirth. She dips her head, her blush so red hot she thinks her face might actually go up in flames. “But enough of this for now. It is getting late and you could use some rest.”

“Yes,” She agrees, her eyes darting back to him. She hears the chitter of Ghost off to the side, and wonders if he’s been lingering all along. She rarely loses track of him, but she’d been so engrossed in their conversation... “I should get going,” She mumbles, barely audible. She offers him a mild bow. “Good night, Zavala.”

His lips curl up into a polite smile. “Oyasumi, Miyu.”

She positively glows at his farewell, relishing the use of her native tongue. It’s like a balm on a battered piece of her soul. “Oyasumi!”

It’s only halfway down the lift that leads down to the City below that Miyu realizes that Ghost is chuckling, swaying side to side in an impression of a head-shake.

“What?” She asks him, tapping a finger to the side of her jaw.

Ghost swivels around her. “It’s nothing. You’re cute, Yu-mi.” She makes a disgruntled face and swats at him. He erupts into sparks and transmats to the other side of her, just shy of laughing at her curled lower lip and puffed cheeks. As the lift lurches and the doors open with a metallic squeal, he continues quietly enough that she doesn’t hear him. “You’re cute, and I’m starting to think I’m not the only one who noticed.”


	7. On Meditations and the Void

Miyu doesn’t actually hate the Crucible. Once, in her younger days, before the Cabal and her faulty Light, before every Titan carried a shotgun, she loved it. She could glide through the air with a hand cannon tucked into the sash at her waist and a sword in her hand and she would burn bright like the sun.

But it’s not the same as it was, at the beginning. The Guardians are different. She is different, too. She has to fight smarter, use ranged weapons to make up for her newfound shortcomings. She is not proud of it, either. There is nothing she wants more than to dance through Shaxx’s arenas with her blade like she had in the days of old, carving up those who stand in her way. She realizes that halfway through her eleventh match, on her fourth day of being required to participate in the Crucible. She’s so utterly frustrated.

She throws caution to the wind, and winds up doing somewhat better - earning more kills, but dying three times as much.

Shaxx pulls her out after that match, throwing her a bottle of water that appears from out of nowhere. There’s a logo for some gun manufacturer on it, but she’s not paying attention to that as she guzzles it down.

“You are far more disciplined than this, old friend,” He says, when she rests upon a crate across from him. The Crucible does not take his eyes off the screens, making a series of comments over the in-arena PA system. When the match breaks, he twists to regard her. “You should be running circles around these newbies.”

Miyu sighs. “I know.”

“And yet, what are you doing about it?”

“Things are different now, Shaxx,” She says, quietly. She’s never needed to be loud for him to hear her. “You know I am having difficulties.” Ghost hovers nearby, eying the Lord Guardian of the Crucible warily. “Everyone does, it seems. I’m working on it.”

“So I’ve heard,” He says in reply. “Fruitful efforts?”

“They would be,” She says, sounding exasperated, “If I were given space and time to experiment on my own.”

“Ikora wishes to help you,” Shaxx reminds her. “You are better than this. You are a fighter. One of our best.”

“I was,” She agrees. “Now, I’m washed up. I’d probably be a better fighter if I was Lightless.”

“Don’t say such things,” The one-horned Titan growls, swinging all the way around to regard her. It sounds like he’s gritting his teeth behind his helmet. “I refuse to believe that you’re throwing in the towel.”

“I didn’t say I was.”

“The woman I remember would not have been this subdued. You have never been cocky or loud, Miyu, but you’ve always had that unassuming grace, that confidence in your stance that spoke when you moved. I don’t know what’s been done to her, but I hope you find her soon.”

She rolls her eyes behind his back when he returns to monitoring the matches currently in progress. “That woman might never come back,” She mutters hotly to herself. “Then what?”

Ghost chirps and hovers before her after ten minutes of listening to the Crucible Handler’s commentary. “I got a message,” He says, quietly enough. “He says he’s free now, if we are, for that… thing we were talking about.”

“I-”

“Just go,” Shaxx grumbles, loud. “You’ve satisfied your daily requirement with me, piss-poor effort though it be.”

“Clearly she’s doing her best,” Ghost replies back on her behalf with equal snark, but Miyu pushes him down, between her flat palms.

“Thank you,” She says, and takes off in a billow of robes.

Shaxx does not bother to reply.

-/

The skies have been overcast all day, but now, as she traverses to the training compound, she can tell that it’s going to rain. It will likely grow cold afterward, becoming a catalyst for the leaves to change colors, in the city below. She thinks that would be nice. Miyu has always welcomed change. Better to welcome it like an old friend than fight it every time it came around, she’s always thought.

Zavala is waiting for her when she arrives, dressed in a similar tunic, without armor. She holds Ghost out and allows him to transmat the majority of her own heavy entrapments away, leaving her in a faded Crucible robe that’s mangled and frayed, boots, and bond. Her arms are bare, the sleeves of her robes singed and burnt away.

She catches him looking at her arms and holds them out.

  
“I haven’t been using it,” Miyu tells him quietly. “No sense in hurting myself when everyone else is trying to.”

“You do not like Crucible,” He reasons.

“I do, actually,” She quips back, her mouth twisting into something almost smile-like. “Or, more aptly, I did, but... everyone solves things by shoving a shotgun down each other’s throat, and I enjoy a more riveting battle.” She palms the hilt of her sword, belted by a second sash around her middle.

“A swordswoman?”

“Yes. Muscle memory leads me to believe I may have been versed in swordplay... before.”

Zavala nods, but does not inquire further. That’s fine by her. She hardly ever shares this much, but somehow it’s easier when it’s him. Ghost makes an indignant sound in through their link. He’s been behaving a bit shifty lately. She knows what he’s thinking, but he’s wrong. He insists he’s not, but at least they’re on the same page in that there are bigger issues at the moment.

She refocuses, as the Commander sits down in front of her. “You were meditating, you said,” He looks up at her and gestures in front of him.

“I was.” She unties the belt holding her sword and lays it down beside her on the ground, dropping to sit cross-legged in front of him.

“If you return to that mantra, do you think it might happen again?”

“I’ve tried, but to no avail.”

“Recount it to me, then,” He encourages, voice dipping lower. It makes her back straighten, warmth spiraling through her chest.

“A candle,” She begins, tentatively.

“Go on.”

Her pale eyes slip shut. “And a voice.”

“Do you remember what it said?”

She nods. “The Speaker used to say it,” She recalls. “The Light lives in all places, in all things...”

Zavala watches her carefully as she recants the well worn phrase, her shoulders loose and curved, her breaths deep and controlled through her speech. Her lips barely part as the words tumble out.

“... even in you, though broken you may seem.”

Miyu drifts a bit after she explains it in full, and he encourages it, allowing a blank, empty canvas to replace her overthinking mind. She does not hear when he stands and steps toward her, crouching in the space in front of her and placing a large palm on her shoulder. His hand is warm and ungloved; she can feel the warmth of it through the tatters of her robe.

Her eyes flick up and meet his as they blink open. She does not startle, and for that he is grateful. “Ready to begin?” He questions quietly.

She nods, and Zavala rises, extending a hand to pull her to her feet as if she is featherlight. To him, she may very well be. Extending her free hand, her Ghost takes his cue and transmats her sword away. Then, he hovers off to the side, watching intently. Beside him, the Commander’s ghost appears, her white shell glimmering with Light.

“It will probably be easier if you are inside it,” He informs her, his fingers flexing at his sides. “When I call upon my Light,” He breathes in, then out as if he is meditating, his hands rising up and out, “The void feels as though it blooms in my chest and unfurls outward. I describe it to new Titans as being akin to filling a cup.”

The Warlock watches him with narrowed, scrutinous eyes. Her brows knit together slightly as he continues.

“The Ward itself rises from the ground up,” She looks around him and sees that it does, “And then coalesces together at the top above me, last.”

“It normally doesn’t take that much time,” She says, when it finally knits together above them.

  
“No,” He agrees, dropping his hands to the side. Around him, everything is tinted with lavender-lilac void Light. “I figured you would want to see it slowly at first.”

The Warlock hums drifts slowly around the edges of the shield and reaches out her fingers, tentatively. The first time, they pass through. The second, she skims them along the inside of the bubble of energy.

“It's cool to the touch,” She says. “Almost frigid.”

“A common association with the void.”

She nods, studying it. He steps beside her as she comments, “I've been in the presence of other Sentinels, but to clarify, the Ward has to break to allow enemy attacks to get through, yes?”

He agrees, and she tips her head back to regard him. She steps through it and back before it dissipates in trails of latent Light.

They repeat the process several times, until a light drizzle begins to fall on the open-air arena. Miyu tilts her head skyward when it becomes more of a true rain than a cool mist, faltering in her measurements of the thickness of the overshield. Her eyes blink wide as she stares up into fathomless clouds.

When his shield dissipates again, the excess water runs down the remnants of his Light as the void ebbs away. She steps back into the space where his shield had been, takes two strides across soil dotted with raindrops now that it's no longer protected.

“I don't expect you to stay out in the rain,” She murmurs. “I appreciate you indulging me.”

He hums. “A little rain is not a deterrent, Miyu. If anything, it's refreshing.” Cool blue eyes regard her almost fondly, though she's certain she's imagining things. “I will need a moment before I will be ready again.”

“Oh, of course,” She urges. “I don't mean to be so demanding.”

“You are not,” Zavala assures. “Your focus is admirable. But if you don't mind, I am certain my Ghost has messages I should address, if you can spare me a moment.”

It's clear that she's embarrassed, occupying his time. She nods, the aura under her skin swirling in time with her strangely elevated heartbeat. “Of course. Please, take whatever time you need. I should think on practical application, anyway.”

The Commander nods, and his ghost, hovering nearby, transmats forward instead of sailing through the rain.

“Ghost - Tamashii,” Miyu breathes, the words tumbling nearly soundless from her lips, “My sword, please.”


	8. Burned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an early 8th chapter, in honor of me reaching 800 kudos on ao3. :)

Her feet shift before she strikes. A gleaming sword burns through the air, sluicing droplets of water on their expedition earthbound, her blade the most perfect extension of self. No sound of breath, no shift of robes gives her away.

Instead, it is the deadly sound of metal parting the air that draws him away from quiet conversation with his Ghost. Her swordplay does not sing like the conventional kind he's both watched and faced in the Crucible; It is old, an art form long forgotten, from the remnants of a people whose scattered survivors had been assimilated into the conglomerate of people gathered under the Traveler's might.

He does not realize he's staring until his Ghost repeats herself for what he swears is (at most) the third time but she insists is the fifth or sixth.

“You're not listening,” She says. His eyes dart to her narrowed, almost pouting optic, then are torn back as the Guardian before lunges almost theatrically, poised and graceful before dropping back, sliding her sword against her chest and then sheathing it with a reverence that seems long forgotten in this day and age. “Za-va- _laaa_ ,” She whines, her voice small and quiet but shrill enough to draw his attention. “I have to give an answer to Amanda. Are you approving her order or not?”

Blue eyes blink at her, and she can see the cogs turning in his mind. He has no idea what she's asking him. “Yes,” He says, “Fine.”

White cones twitch in a silent laugh. “You just approved her refit and upgrade order totalling just over three hundred million glimmer.” He inhales sharply, eyes sparking like an arc grenade as realization crosses his features. She continues in her youthful tone. “You sure about that, Z?”

“Perhaps it would be... best, if we schedule a meeting to discuss what exactly she requires."

She chirps around another bout of laughter, audible this time. “Yeah, maybe. I'll talk to Amanda and set it up for you, since you seem pretty… whats the word? Enthralled.”

He narrows his eyes at her, their partnership too old to make him flustered over the taunt, though he clicks his tongue at her by way of reply (a sign she's somewhat unsettled him with her observation). With a final peal of laughter and a tiny, affectionate bonk of her cones against his forehead, she disappears from sight.

With his Ghost gone, he's helpless to watch as she moves through several sets of stances. During her final set, her sword glows the color of sunrise, and he feels her Light set ablaze. It's like a comet, like stars meeting their end - lonely and bright.

He finds his eyes drawn to the tensing of her hands, the way they grasp the hilt of her sword tighter than before, notices the tensing of her shoulders. It's hurting her; her own latent abilities fighting her as if she’d become their enemy.

“Miyu, stop!” Her Ghost is a beacon of concern. He cries, “Drop it!”

But, she doesn’t. Instead the Warlock shakes her head, anger and resentment blanketing her features. Her lips move, but Zavala can't hear the words. Regardless, he's compelled forward by a fellow Guardian in need.

Strong arms come around her, his chest solid against her back. “Let go,” Zavala urges quietly into her ear. “Miyu, let go.”

Still, she shakes her head. His hands cover hers, and hears him hiss when the flames lick his skin, but he does not move away, his fingers prying hers from around the flaming sword. It scorches the ground when it finally drops from their combined grip, leaving her staring down at large hands, enveloping her own.

They’re burned...

...like hers.

Her knees shake when it hits her; the damage she's inflicted upon him washing over her with the subtlety of a tsunami. “I'm sorry,” She apologies. “I'm so sorry.”

When her legs give, he follows her down, arms caged around her, mindful of their still entwined hands. Sobs wreck her petite frame with the force of an earthquake, her eyes still wide with terror, examining the damage she's inflicted to the one person willing to help her.

“Miyu,” He rumbles, pulling her back against his chest. “It's alright. I'm fine.”

She's still shaking her head in the negative when her healing rift unfurls beneath them like a pocket of sunlight.

There is something intimate about being so close to a fellow Guardian’s Light. Teaching is a practical application, and he is a man built on control. But there is no denying the heady prickle - gooseflesh from the back of his neck down, a coiling deep in his core - that comes with being exposed to the pinnacle of another’s gift.

He watches as her Light rectifies the damage to his hands in seconds, but takes far longer to heal her own. There is no doubt of the power behind her Light; it has been forged with great care. It is strong.

Where the pure Solar energy that consumed her blade and their hands was volatile and angry, the rift is soft and warm: more reflective of the woman trembling against him.

“Easy,” He tells her, when she scrambles to move. He can feel her fingers twitching insistently under his own; the damage done to them not really healed, at least not all the way. “Relax,” He chides. “I promise, it is alright. I'm not angry with you.”

Her Ghost gives him a very serious gaze over the top of her head. “Yu-mi, let me see,” The small being requests. “Maybe I can help.”

Zavala lifts their joined hands, tilting hers out for her Ghost's inspection. Miyu continues to cry, looking away. “You know you can't,” She says to him.

The Commander frowns.

“It doesn't mean I won't try,” Her Ghost says, by way of reply.

The beams of light do little more than warm her palms and illuminate the agitated aura swirling beneath her fingertips. Her fingers look healed. But the misfiring of the nerves tell him otherwise.

His own Ghost appears a moment later, a shimmer of Light and a beyond curious tilt of her cones not drawing any attention but that of her Guardian. He always sensed her easily. It came with time, with a strong bond.

“Adelaide,” He calls, tone rough like gravel, “Scan her hands.”

His usually cheery partner does so quietly, her cones drifting apart with both analysis and a flood of Light. The woman in his arms stills, watching the white-shelled Ghost work.

“Zavala, I… I'm sorry,” Adelaide says, quietly. Her shell twitches downward in sympathy when nothing happens. “I tried.”

The Commander nods. Miyu attempts to rise again, but without success.

“Let me go,” The dark-haired warrior requests, “Please.”

He makes a sound like he's thinking. Instead of answering her, or letting go, he asks, “How long does it last, afterward?”

“It will be fine by tonight.” Zavala watches her Ghost. His cones flinch at the scrutiny swivels in a silent negative.

Frowning, he queries, “And what will you do, until then?”

She shrugs. Her Ghost feints downward, optic narrowing darkly.

“Perhaps... attempt resurrection?”

The Warlock inhales sharply. Zavala figures it to be a confirmation.

His sigh pushes him further against her back. “Will it fix the damage?”

“Some of it.”

“I would not dare to think I know what you are feeling,” Zavala says, hands releasing hers, but resting on her shoulders. Both Ghosts watch him, concerned, scrutinous. “But perhaps tonight you should not.”

“Then what?” She turns to look at him through heavy lashes. Her moonlit gaze is limned in red, her cheeks darkened with evidence of her tears. Her aura nips beneath her skin like a spring coiled tight. “Tell me,” She pleads in a demanding whisper. “What do I do?”

The physical damage to this woman is minimal, in terms of what they endure regularly. It is nothing for her to suffer this damage on repeat. They are Guardians. It is what they do. And yet, he feels something inside him  He does not need some supernatural empathy to feel her soul crying as if it's being torn apart.

One palm moves from her shoulder to cup the back of her head, guide it to his chest. “It might be best if you allowed yourself to…” He pauses, trying to parse the proper word. “Grieve.”

She bolts from his grasp, quick, slippery, almost like lightning. She rises, eyebrows dipping. Enraged.  “Grieve?” She takes a deep breath, though it's more like a gasp than anything else. More than anger, it's panic.

“You think I'm a lost cause,” She accuses. “Don't you?” Her eyes dart to and fro between his similarly luminous irises.

He returns to his feet as well, hands our in a non-threatening gesture. “No, no, Miyu-”

“I thought you would understand,” She says, and it's more to herself than anything else. She flinches back when he inhales to speak, dipping into a low, formal bow out of habit for the version of herself seen dead centuries ago. “Thank you for-”

“Miyu-”

She won't look him in the eye, her downcast irises illuminating fresh tears on her face. “... I'm sorry to waste your afternoon.”

He takes a step forward and she bolts, so distraught she leaves her Ghost no alternative but to transmat her sword and follow.


	9. Believe

Shaxx eyes her warily through his helmet when she comes to check in at the queue the following morning. Two large, gloved hands cover the roster she's about to add her name to.

“I'm to send you to the Commander,” He says in his sweeping bellow.

“I'd appreciate it if you didn't,” She replies quietly. “You have to owe me at least a few more favors.”

He chuckles. “Ah, but you used one yesterday. And comrades though we are, I have known the Commander far longer. I strive to remain in his good graces.”

She looks down, and rolls her eyes, saying, “That's a poor excuse.”

“If you argued, I was told to ask to see your hands.” She scowls, and he laughs at her frustration. “I suspect,” He says, removing his thick-fingered hands from the queue, “This has something to do with the fact that you have chosen to forego a sword today.”

Miyu looks away, her robes covering her trembling fingers. It doesn't escape his oversight. The Crucible Handler need not know the intimate details to know something is amiss.

“He's in his office. Go.” Shaxx is firm. “Now.”

She sighs.

Shaxx does, too. “Mimi,” He says, voice softer than most have ever heard, “You are a brilliant swordswoman. Your instincts are keen and your Light has always burned bright. For as long as I've known you, you've never let anything keep you down. Whatever it is,  _fight_. Do not let it best you.”

Quartz eyes harden. “I'm trying, Shaxx,” She says in a mouse's whisper. “I don't know how much longer I can-”

“Nonsense. The woman who stood at my back at Burning Lake would never allow this to fell her. You are better than this, and you know it.”

“I'm not that woman anymore.”

He shakes his head. “Yes,” He says, a large finger tipping her chin up, having her look him in the approximation of his eyes, “You still are. That woman didn't need a Warlock's Light to bring those Hive to her knees. What drove her was in here,” He thumps her chest, over her heart, with a light fist. She sways, her center of gravity shifting over the blow.

The massive Titan steps back, carrying on in a louder timbre, “In any case. I hope you find her, underneath all that doubt.”

“So do I,” She answers softly. “So do I.”

-/

“You, uh,” Ghost flits past her, moving into the Commander's office as if to show her it's safe to enter, “Wanted to see me?”

Zavala drops the datapad in which he'd been working onto a neatly organized stack of paperwork. “I wasn't sure you'd come,” He says, sounding exceedingly subdued. “Not to say that I am not-”

“Shaxx didn't make it sound like I had a choice,” She replies, not straying from the doorway, arms behind her back. “Did I?”

“I-” Her Ghost swivels to look at her with an astonished spin of his prongs when the Commander stutters and frowns, though she cannot tell if it’s because she truly did not have a choice, or if it were because she thought she had no choice but to meet with him. “I simply wished to apologize. I did not mean to-”

“It's alright,” She interrupts. “I could have handled it better.”

“You are allowed to be angry, Miyu.” He rises from behind his large desk. “It certainly sounded how you took it. But, if I may…” He gestures toward a less formal arrangement, a small sofa and three plush, leather chairs that look more appropriate for an afternoon of reading than the Commander's accommodations, “I would like to explain.”

Ghost’s push for her to agree to hear him out ripples across their link in a plea. Seems he worries more by the minute, lately.  _Whatever can help you,_  he’d said the night before.  _I just want you to feel like you, again. Whatever we have to do, however it has to be._

She draws her shoulders up before sighing. “Alright,” She says, gently. “I’ll hear you out.”

His head dips in a thankful nod, eyes watching her as he crosses the room. “Please, take a seat.”

She slides past him to sit on the edge of the sofa adjacent to a well-worn chair that is clearly his usual one. Ghost rests upon her shoulder, bumping her jaw with a gentle nudge. A reminder to listen. She’d been angry, ashamed, humiliated last night. She cannot approach this the same way, cannot run. Even if it isn’t what she wants to hear.

Even though she thought she’d found an ally in him. She should have known better. He was being kind to her because it was his job to build them up. He’d gone out of his way. It was more than she ever expected. She needed to be grateful and let her anger rest.

A hand that’s a stark blue against her porcelain skin reaches for her sword hand, flipping it over to rest palm up. There’s a painful twinge - though she can’t tell if it’s from actual injury or a phantom one that her Light is reluctant to erase from her body’s memory - as his other hand smooths it flat between his. Her fingers twitch between his against her will.

“I am sorry,” He says, careful to meet her gaze. “I keep saying that I could not possibly equate how you feel. That is true, however…” He tips his head to the side, sliding the hand pressed down against her open palm to let her fingers twitch and curl over his own, “I did not mean to hurt you. You are still grieving the change in your Light, and I meant to insinuate that you should give yourself room to process and accept that it's not the same as it had been, so that you can heal. You are not hopeless, Miyu. I don’t believe that, nor should you. And what you’ve told me, what you’ve seen…” He takes a moment to redirect himself. “It will not be easy, but I know you will overcome this.”

A tiny, surprised gasp bubbles from her lips. His words weren’t quite what she was expecting. “You believe I can do it?”

Blue eyes glow bright with the hint of a smile. “Yes. I do.”

Miyu dips her head at the Commander’s vote of confidence, swiping at the back of her eyes. “I want to believe I can, too,” She says.

Ghost looks between them, his gold-limned shell bright in the late-morning sunlight from the window.  The Commander’s eyes find the single teal optic. Ghost dips his body in a nod, hovering over his Guardian’s lap. “Don’t cry, Yu-mi,” He says, his mechanical overtones softening the concern further, “We’ll figure it out together.”

Zavala nods at that, looking away respectfully as she composes herself. “I would be remiss if I did not recommend that you seek Ikora’s counsel,” He admits a bit later. “At least hear her considerations.”

“And if I choose to forego them?”

His lips thin into a small line.“I will not interfere in your personal business with your Vanguard. It is not my place.”

Miyu sighs. “Alright. I’ll talk to Ikora then.” She rises, freeing the hand she hasn’t realized has relaxed in the warm grip of his own.   
  
He chuckles at her. “You don’t have to go right this second, Miyu.”

A pretty blush crosses her cheeks. “Oh,” She breathes, feather-light. “Did you need anything else?”

“Do you?”

“I - uh, what?”

“Yesterday was difficult,” He says, trying to simplify his words in an attempt not to weave some negative connotation for her to read into them. “But before-” She meets his eyes, resting back on the sofa. “I hope that our time together did help you, at least somewhat.”

“It did,” She agrees. “The raw data is helpful. Your Ward is bigger than my Rift by roughly a two meter radius.” He leans forward, interested, as she chatters, “I could likely amplify my rift to become wider, however a solar ability would not create as potent of an overshield as your void one does.”

“What about the sword?”

She looks at her hands, then back at him. “I don’t know.”

“If you practice - carefully, with your rift?”

“Maybe, if I space it out. I won't be able to cast it more than a few times without… you know.”

“Perhaps we can take turns.” Her brow furrows at his comment, but he continues, “Tomorrow evening. Our usual arena. You did say you were hoping to get a few more measurements and I-” Her brows dip in a question as he studies her face, “I think we would all feel better if you did not practice alone.”

Dark lashes flutter against her cheeks as she thinks. “That shouldn’t be an issue. I will speak to Ikora before then, and see what she says.”

“A wise idea. I would be interested in hearing her opinion, should you feel comfortable sharing it.”

She nods immediately, already planning to tell him regardless. To the Commander, it feels an awful lot like trust.


	10. Hurts You Can't Always See

There is a definitive weight to her gaze, when he sees her the following evening.

“Ikora did not have time to speak with me,” She confesses immediately, as if guilty she was unable to fulfill her end of the bargain. Her eyes are downcast. “I tried several times.”

He does not comment, only nodding once.

“She told me to come back another day,” Miyu scoffs, her anger still boiling, threatening to spill over. “How is it that the Vanguard Commander has time for me, but my own Vanguard does not?” When she looks up, she’s drawn to his gaze. She holds up her hands, her eyes widening in a mix of fear and concern, “Forgive me. I should not have said that aloud.”

“It can be frustrating,” He admits. “She seems to find any manner of thing to occupy her time these days.”

Her brows pull together. “Are you agreeing with me?”

The Commander does not comment, looking away as if perhaps he had said nothing at all. Leaving her to infer what she will.

The porcelain skinned Warlock giggles. It is a tiny, understated sound, like wind chimes on a clear morning, airy and light. She flushes, and it’s only then that he realizes he’s staring. “I’m sorry,” She says, looking down and away.

“Your laugh,” He says, suddenly finding himself on unsteady footing. “I do not believe I’ve heard it before.”

Quicksilver eyes blink, and soften. “I don’t know the last time I have,” She muses. “It’s been a while.”

“You should find reasons to do so more,” He replies, and she shifts, her posture demonstrating rapt attention. It means something, what he’s said to her. It’s caught her off guard, he realizes.

Does no one care for this petite Warlock, at all? He ponders it for a moment. The smallest amount of positive attention surprises her, his concern makes her uncomfortable. Not even her Vanguard seems to spare her a moment.

“Miyu, do-” He thinks on it. “Do you like it here?”

She frowns. “Do I… like it here,” Her lips parse the words as if they’re difficult to comprehend. “I don’t dislike it, I suppose. The City is my home.”

He sighs, speaking far more freely. “Others do not treat you well.”

“Most,” She replies. “Those I would consider friends are stationed far away or engrossed in their work without time to spare. We know our duty, though.” The Warlock looks at him, her eyes curious. “What is this about?”

Zavala pauses. What is this about, indeed. Even his Ghost seems to hover on the edge of his consciousness, her own curiosity piqued. “I suppose I... find myself worried that you do not have enough support.”

She looks up at him, her gaze bright and soft in equal measure. “Tamash- Ghost has always looked out for me.”

The Commander tilts his head to the side, as her Ghost appears immediately, looking very alert and confused. His gold-trimmed cones twitch before he circles and hovers carefully over her shoulder.

“And I have you,” She murmurs.

Miyu looks down and away, and whether it’s from embarrassment at her openness or being just plain shy, Zavala is outrageously grateful. His Ghost, takes that moment to prod thoughtfully at their link in his mind with something that’s still almost childlike in tone, but very unapologetic in reminding him that she absolutely told him so. This isn’t just helping. Zavala doesn’t just help. He gets invested, especially when it’s something worthwhile. And helping this wayward Warlock find a way to accept and be accepted by the Light ablaze inside her is exactly that.

His Ghost nudges him lightly, on the outskirts of his mind. _It’s okay, you know,_  Adelaide says, just to him. _I think she’s sweet. And I want us to help her, too._  He thinks back to her that it isn’t okay, that this is wholly inappropriate. She’s seeking him out for help, not... whatever this is that’s giving him these new feelings.

“I’m sorry,” Miyu apologizes, “If that sounds a bit forward. I just… if you value someone,” She looks at her Ghost, who dips his entire being in the affirmative, as if he’s coaxing courage into her with his watchfulness, “I’ve learned it’s important to tell them so. Battles, wars, there’s a lot out there and... I feel like you might understand.”

The nod he gives her is slight, but his insides burn like they’ve touched fire. Damn it all if he doesn’t know just what she means.

-/

He’s late.

It’s the life of a public servant. His version of on time - if he has his way, is to arrive at least ten minutes early. Rarely does he get his way, though. Most times, he’s double - even triple - booked on meetings. If he has a spare moment, it’s typically stolen by someone or something trivial that spirals right out of control.

The Warlock is stretched in an elegant pose, sword extended straight out in front of her. Her hair is pulled back into a small bun at the base of her neck, and it’s clear by the way she focuses her breathing that she’s been at it for a while. That’s fair. He’s only... forty-five minutes later than their agreed upon time.

“I’m sorry,” He says, by way of greeting. “I-”

“It’s fine.” She tips her head to the side, concealing her blade without so much as a look at the sheath at her side. “I heard the Consensus meeting was a bit, uh,” She looks up at him with those bright eyes of hers and smiles as she approaches him. “Tense?”

He laughs. Well and truly laughs. It’s a deep, almost melodic sound for such a stoic, serious man. “Where did you hear that,” He asks, when he’s almost composed himself.

A shrug of shoulders and a tiny quirk of her lip gives her away. “Shaxx.”

“Shaxx?” His brows draw together, one arching as he regards her. “He does not normally share such sensitive information with those beneath him.”

That quirk of her lips dip into a smirk that’s almost too playful for him to equate to her. “Beneath him,” She tuts, her words dashed with a splash of something amused. “How old do you think I am, Commander?”

His step backward surprises them both. Her, because she believes she’s put him off, and him, because paired with what she’d said about battle days before, makes him truly reassess her.

“Not as old as me,” He finally settles on, giving her a once over that strikes her as proud.

Too proud to admit he has no idea.

“That’s likely true,” She agrees and lets it drop.

Their top priority is making sure that she gets the last of the measurements she requires. Afterward, they discuss the pull of Light, his personal relationship with the Void, from where she stands, under the dome of his protection.

“It held against the Cabal,” He says, when she prods the fading ripple of void as it dissipates. “In the initial assault.”

  
“I heard,” She agrees. “It’s impressive, you know.”

“So I’ve been told,” He replies. “It did not matter, in the end.”

“It did,” She says, softly. “There were hundreds of Guardians who made it out of the Plaza because of you, who otherwise would have died. I was one of them.”

It’s not that far fetched, he realizes. It would make sense that she had been there. Despite himself, he says, “I do not remember seeing you there.”

“My hair was longer,” She muses, “But I was wearing my helmet. Those ceremonial robes we all had on didn’t help much, either.”

“Were you on one of the shuttles?”

“No. I got out early, went into the streets. When they caged the Traveler,” She sighs. “I was casting Dawnblade. The Cabal nearly killed Tamashii,” Zavala looks at the Ghost who flutters against her cheek in gentle comfort. “I felt like I’d been cut in half,” She finally admits.

“You almost did,” Her Ghost replies to that, “You-” but Miyu shakes her head, as if speaking about it is too much.

Zavala can understand that, feeling the phantom pain of a slug in his side that he’ll never forget, no matter how many times he continues to rise. “We’re here now,” He exhales, looks up at the looming, glowing form in the sky.

“May it be enough,” Miyu replies, rocking back on her heels.

“It is,” He stands before her, blocking out the great white machine, one hand on each of her shoulders. “You are.”

Her eyes flutter shut, and they stand that way for a few moments, until she blinks her silver-white eyes open and asks, “May I try to cast now?”

He nods. “Are you changing any of your variables?”

“Yes.” She inhales deep and exhales as she summons a healing rift beneath their feet. “I’ve been thinking about the sword being heavy. I’m not going to throw it, but you should stand back.”

“Okay,” He agrees. “Let me know if there’s something I can do.”

“Stand with him,” She says to her Ghost. “I don’t want to take any chances.”

When she reaches for the fire that lives within her, it lights easily. Her fingers twitch against the heat, but the sword forms without issue. Holding it out in front of her, she thinks of the vision she’d had on Mars.

Down.

A single candle.

She plunges the sword into the ground. The flames lick her robes, but nothing else seems to happen. She waits, summoning another sword as the rift runs out. The first sword remains the longest, an extra handful of seconds before it too winks to light and ash. She looks down at her hands.

“Ghost,” She calls. The damage to her hands is minimal, but she can smell the burning fabric of her robes. She sighs.

He answers dutifully. “I can heal it, at least,” He says as he sets her hands to rights.

Zavala steps forward. “Try again in a few moments. Give yourself time.”

His patience is impressive, Miyu thinks, watching him watch her out of the corner of her eye. She wonders, for a moment, how he would be as a solar Titan, but shakes her head. She can’t imagine him summoning a flaming hammer.

Eventually the repetition catches up to her. Where she’d been unblemished, small blisters remained when Ghost tried to heal her, and where the solar fire seemed contained, it began to spiral up and up until she herself was consumed. When she wakes following resurrection, it’s with a start as she finds herself nearly nose-to-nose with the Vanguard Commander.

“What was that?” He asks, sounding angry. “I asked you to stop before it got to that point,” He barks at her roughly.

“I just want it to work,” She replies as she sits up, frustrated enough to push herself away, growling, “I have to figure it out, Zavala. I have to. It’s driving me crazy. What am I missing? Why can’t I do this? Why is it not enough?”

“Stop thinking,” He urges her. “You’re thinking too hard. How do you feel?”

“Raw.” Her eyes narrow, and her hand clutches her chest, over her heart. “It hurts.”

“Is that how you felt, casting Dawnblade, before?”

She shakes her head.

“Tell me about it,” He says, sitting cross legged in front of her. “Describe to me how it felt.”

When her eyes close, he watches her compose herself, watches her reflect. There’s no question that she’s capable of wielding the Light, but there’s some barrier preventing her from using it, from untangling it from her soul and calling upon it to utilize at will. Dark lashes beat against alabaster cheeks, and starlight skitters across her skin in fractal patterns. She does not open her eyes when she speaks.

“Vibrant,” She whispers through parted lips. “Powerful. Alive.” After a moment, she opens her eyes, twin tears dropping down pale cheeks. “Warm. It was so warm.”

Her Ghost hovers toward them, but stops at a loaded glance from Zavala.

“I’m so afraid I’ll never feel that way, again,” She confesses. “It - when I lost my Light, it burned so badly I thought I’d died. I thought I’d look down at my throwing arm and it’d be gone. But, there was nothing. It was like it’d never been mine at all, like I’d made it up in my head.” She inhales. “No one believed me. The ones who’d been using their Light when it had been ripped away were rare. Scarred. I have scars,” She says. “Mine are just… different. Like instead of being broken where someone can see, it’s inside of me.”

This time, when Ghost moves forward, he does so even with Zavala holding a hand out to discourage him in an effort to keep her talking.

“Tamashii,” She calls, asking a question that Zavala misses, stuck on the shadows in her gaze.

A small box appears between them with the shimmering glow of transmat.

She turns it toward the man across from her, an arm’s length away. Her eyes dip in time with her chin in a serious nod.

He takes it as permission, and opens the box carefully, reverently.

A cracked ghost shell sits beside a bond that looks like obsidian or lava rock. It’s black and smooth metal. He doesn’t realize that she’s moved, but she kneels in front of him, lifting the bond from the box carefully. A pale yellow light emerges from the side of it, flickering as if it’s short circuited. It’s the ceremonial bond she’d been wearing, the one given to war-decorated Warlocks, he realizes. The combination of triangles that makes the Warlock sigil is gone, and the bond itself is completely smooth. It had burned. It had burned hot.

The Commander catalogs that and eyes the shell. “You said you thought the Cabal had gotten to your Ghost.”

“He used the last of his Light to blind them, to give us time to escape. They took a swipe, but I managed to pull him away from them in time to prevent a direct attack to his core. Neither of us could think straight. I think we were in shock.”

Her ghost flutters down, resting carefully between her legs, on the crease created by their bend while she kneels. Her fingers trace the top fin of his shell deftly.

“You can’t be the only one,” He says.

“Most have made peace with their Light through pilgrimage,” She says. “To the Shard or Io.” At the sharp breath he takes, she continues, “I visited both. Ikora had sent me back again, after a time. It’s no use.”

“There has to be an answer,” Zavala tells her. “I refuse to believe there isn’t.”

“There is,” Adelaide pipes up, from her usual spot over the Commander’s left shoulder. All eyes find the child-like ghost. She shoots a beam of light directly at the Warlock’s chest, over her heart, before scanning the rest of her in a wide sweep. “It’s inside her. Whatever is holding her back, it isn’t the Light.” She eyes the other Ghost, her segments spinning and shifting like she’s thinking on how to phrase her words. “Would you agree?”


	11. Zavala's Light

Zavala turns his head to look at his Ghost in surprise at the same time the one facing him zips up, half-yelling, “Now you look here-”

“Tamashii.”

“My guardian has-”

“Yamete kudasai.” Ghost blinks his optic and drops back to her lap, looking up at her with his wide, curious eye and a twitch of cones in pent-up rage. “Forgive him,” She says quietly, to the Commander’s Ghost. “He is defensive because he is a good partner. We’ve considered your point. If it’s me that is the problem, then what is it about me?”

“Zavala said something about grieving,” Adelaide mentions back, equally as soft. Her Guardian watches her flit around the ailing Warlock. “But I don’t think it’s that.”

“What do you think?”

“That this is something you have to figure out, yourself,” She replies, evenly enough. “Not that we can’t help. We want to. But nobody can tell you who you are.” She turns to her Guardian. “Well, they can, but you have to know yourself, too. They don’t define you. You do.”

At the following silence, Miyu’s Ghost transmats the box of precious artifacts back from where it came. Zavala rises, extending a hand down to the woman kneeling before him. She’s light and easily set to rights. Zavala watches her carefully as she brushes off her robes, sees the set of her jaw, the twist of her lips. She’s thinking.

Finally, she looks to him. “Would you show me, one more time?”

The Commander nods, extends his arms and braces against nothing, until the Void ripples around them and seals them in.

She looks around before turning back to face him, right palm resting on his chestplate, over his heart. “What do you feel,” She queries. “What drives you?”

It’s a very direct line of questioning, but one he’s explored. One that he’s barked at his unruly charges, when they lose their way. She’s not asking him to teach him, he realizes, even if she doesn’t know that yet herself. She’s intended all along to make her own decisions, to apply his lessons to suit her needs.

And if his Ghost is right, she does not need metrics, or data, or facts. She needs something else. Reassurance. Comfort. Understanding. Hope. His Ghost reads his thoughts, it seems, transmatting the top half of his armor away. The woman before him gasps in quiet surprise.

“May I show you?”

She nods.

Her presses her hand beneath his, to the void curling over his sweater that he gives off like a heady smoke. She shudders at it and closes her eyes.

It’s a dangerous thing, letting someone in this close. It’s a risk, for such a measured man, but he would not be the man that he is if he did not give his everything to help those despite it. His Light is warm, steady and familiar, certain and strong and true. Beneath honor and duty is a love for all things, an understanding that he is one Light in a dark universe, but he will continue to shine as a beacon, continue to protect anyone in need.

Quicksilver eyes look up at him, open and honest. He does not need for her to cast to feel her fear, her doubt, her insecurity. She wears it like a well-worn robe. But he can feel it, beneath all that, the fire that burns.

“I thought it would feel cold, but… your Light, it’s warm,” She murmurs, her head dropping to his shoulder. “Beautiful.”

When the void dissipates, she does not move away. Instead she shuffles closer to him, curling into the crook of his left arm and shoulder. It’s not something she realizes she’s done until his arm comes around her, pushing her head into the meat of his shoulder, encouraging her to seek what she requires.

She attempts to draw back. “I’m sorry, she attempts to explain, “I didn’t mean-”

“There is nothing to apologize for,” He intones in a low rumble. “Take what you need.”

“But-”

“Stop thinking.”

“But-”

“Just feel.” The cool skin of his cheek rests on her head, smooth against her hairline.

“If I do that-” Her voice wobbles, as she pulls her head back again.

His laugh is gentle and warm. “Miyu. I do not mind. I am here for you.” He pushes her head back against his shoulder, tightens his embrace. “It’s alright to cry.”

The fingers that rest over his heart curl into a fist, stretching the sweater that he dons beneath his armor. She pushes her face into his shoulder, her lip trembling hard enough that he can feel it through layers of fabric. His hand smooths down her back and back up again, paying no mind to the passage of time, or that she’s crying a wet spot through his thermal undersuit.

When she backs away, after a small eternity of small huffs of warm air against his chest meant to help her regain her composure, she blinks in surprise at how late it’s become. “I-”

Two hands come up to palm her cheeks, a pair of blue digits thumbing away residual tears. His gaze is warm, concerned. “How are you feeling?”

“Worried,” She answers honestly. “But not nearly as anxious or frightened as before. So better.”

The hug he draws her in for takes her by surprise. “You will get through this,” He says, seriously. “I promise.”

He isn’t sure which one of them gasps when they look into each other’s eyes after that. For all he knows, it could have been them both.

But like the clouds parting, a smile graces her features, gentle and true, and she nods. “I trust you. Thank you.”

It takes a force of will that feels even greater than him to keep his gaze off her lips and on her eyes. Hers slip shut, and he holds her until he feels her relax into his embrace, on the cusp of sleep. It’s only when she startles herself awake that he smiles down at her and offers his arm.

They get a light dinner from a vendor he recommends, and he walks her home.

Miyu tells her Ghost that night that she thinks she might be falling in love.

(He tells her he already knows.)

-/

Guardians don't get sick, but lately, Miyu's life has been so backwards she wouldn't surprised by it. Despite feeling tired and worn, as if she hasn't slept at all, she sighs and drags herself out of bed anyway, because Ghost is chattering to her about a message. Hopefully she snaps out of this.

“Ikora wants to see us,” Ghost repeats. She had simply stared, slack-jawed, the first few times he informs her.

“When?”

“As soon as possible.”

“Great. I’ll get on that,” She replies, sarcasm unrestrained. “I only tried to talk to her… two- three weeks ago?”

“And every day after that,” Ghost supplies helpfully. “I know you’re frustrated with her, Yu-mi. Just see what she wants. Maybe she finally has time to hear you out. Besides, she can’t send you on some crazy mission without Zavala’s approval.”

“I know, Ghost. She just… infuriates me, lately. I’ll do my best not to behave like it when we go see her.”

A small boop against her forehead recenters her. “You feeling alright?”

“More or less.” She yawns. “Just tired.”

“Too tired to receive your other message?” She pads into her small kitchen, peeling a piece of fruit to eat for breakfast before getting ready.

“Other message?” Miyu blinks. “Is it-”

“He’d like to meet you for lunch. I’ll save you the teasing from Adelaide, but he has an open hour and would like to know if there is something you'd prefer.”

The smile blooms on her face without a thought, her tiredness erased almost instantly. “Ask him to surprise me?”

Ghost chirps at that. “Consider it done,” The small being replies, and relishes the pleased look on his partner’s face.

Miyu smiles. It’s going to be a good day.


	12. A Midday Reprieve

Miyu slashes swift and hard into the meat of a Hunter’s chest piece, the force of the blow throwing them back into the crumbling concrete wall behind them.  She flicks the sword and shoves it back into its sheath quickly, reaching for the scout rifle on her back.

A Titan surprises her, whipping around the corner in a blur of sparking blue arc energy. He throws her back a good ten meters, but it isn’t enough to put her down. She slams her fists to the ground, feeling the burn of her Light at her fingertips. She breathes hard, and suddenly the Titan is pinning her, a knee heavy in her abdomen, gauntlet-covered hands wrapped around her neck.

She  _burns._

The Striker yelps, but she holds his wrists with blazing fingers, and rolls them with knowledge that comes from beyond the edges of her memory. They both burn in the strange Solar fire that’s half grenade, half Lightburn.

Shaxx pulls her from the match. She rezzes mid-transmat, both Guardian and Ghost caught by surprise. Miyu lands hard on her rear, glaring up at the emotionless helmet of the one-horned Crucible Handler.

“For fuck’s sake, Mimi,” He says, looking at her charred gauntlets. “What the hell was that about?”

She dips her head, but her chin juts out. In others it would be proud, but on her it’s an indicator that she’s furious. “Not dying?”

“You just died. Try again.”

“He was killing me.”

“You could have rolled him, then reached your blade.”

“You’ve done nothing but damage yourself today. Usually you are far more careful.” He motions to a crate beside where Arcite oversees the matches Shaxx is too busy to tend to. “What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“You came from the Bazaar,” He tells her, not that it’s a secret. “What did Ikora say to you?”

Miyu rolls her eyes, and Shaxx - while irritated with her - is happy she’s not behaving like a wet kitten, at least. “Nothing. I have to get going, anyway. I have plans for lunch.”

At that, the Titan freezes, caught off guard. “What?”

She slinks away, more like a broody Nightstalker than a Warlock. He wants to think on it some more - that’s a shift in events - but Arcite points out a ten-kill streak on one of the monitors. The Crucible waits for no one.

-/

He can see the intensity of her rage without her saying a word. She’s practically vibrating, contents under pressure. He dips his head to regard her, blinking pointedly in her direction. She looks at him and closes the door to his office behind her.

“What’s on your mind,” He asks by way of greeting.

She sighs. “I don’t want to ruin our lunch.” She sighs. “We’ll talk about it afterward.”

“You won’t ruin our lunch.” He slips an arm around her, guides her to the table upon which their lunch is waiting, cutlery, take out containers lined up with effort. Her stomach rumbles, as if to prove his point. “I invited you so that we could catch up.”

The Warlock nods reluctantly, and he pulls out her chair for her. It wins him a smile, puts a heavy crack in her anger, and helps set her to rights. “How have you been?”

“More or less the same,” He tells her. “The Consensus is still asking me who the Hunter Vanguard is, and the Hunters are still saying it’s Colonel.”

She chuckles, though he gives her an exasperated look. “She’d look great in a cloak, I’m sure.”

“Don’t help their cause,” He teases gently. They dig into their meal - she’s infinitely grateful for the lean meat and noodles, Crucible always does a number on her. The silence is comfortable until Zavala hedges, “So, what happened?”

She sets down her chopsticks, folding her hands under her chin and resting her elbows on the table. “I spoke with Ikora today.”

His eyes darken. “That bad?”

“She’s upset that I withheld my vision from her.”

“But you-”

“‘If you wish to be heard, speak  _louder_ ,’” Miyu says in a scathing mock of her Vanguard mentor. “‘Perhaps if you were to assert yourself, I would be less inclined to push you away.’”

Zavala deadpans. “You went to her multiple times.”

“Twenty three, to be exact.”

Zavala frowns, chewing thoughtfully. “Did she have any input?”

Miyu nods, levelling him with a deadpan stare. “Kind of. She’s contacting Osiris.”

“What?”

“Yup,” Miyu huffs at the Commander’s reaction to his predecessor. “Apparently her visions were similar to mine, but she wants an expert opinion. Don’t be surprised when she tries to send me to Mercury.”

“Miyu, even though I dislike-”

“If you tell me I should go see him, I’m leaving,” Miyu tells him, eyes hard. “I know you want to help me, but we’re of similar opinion when it comes to him. Don’t pretend for my sake that you’re alright with me seeing him.”

The Commander exhales, leaning against the back of his chair. “I’m not, but you come before my reservations.”

She reaches across the table and squeezes his hand. It’s bold for her, but she’s become more comfortable with him lately. “I appreciate that. But I remember when he was our Vanguard Commander.” Blue eyes blink at her in surprise. She smirks at him, “Told you I’m not  _that_  young. Anyway, the only lessons I’ve learned from him are how not to be - both as a Warlock, and as a person.”

He sighs. “Miyu, it’s your call.” He looks away. “My personal opinion of those you come into contact with should have no bearing on yours.”

“I know, but I value your opinion, Zavala.” She squeezes the hand she’s still holding on the other side of the table before releasing it.

“If Ikora - even if I -  _do not_ repeat this -” She nods, eyes serious, “Am not on the best of terms with her, she is a skilled Warlock.” He levels her with a firm gaze. “She would not consider Osiris if she herself were not stumped. You are a Sunsinger and he is one of the best to ever exist.”

“He is a heretic and a piss-poor defender of humanity.”

“You aren’t wrong,” Zavala concedes. “He is egoistic and selfish, and personally, I do not condone his behavior. However, neither did Ikora. It is not an easy task to contact him. She would not go out of her way for his input unless she felt there was no other choice.”

Miyu sighs. “If he’ll speak to her, I’ll listen. But I have no interest in going to see him.”

“If that’s the only way?”

“It’s not.” White eyes burn. “We both know it’s not.”

“We both hope it’s not,” Zavala corrects. “Think carefully, Miyu. Dealing with someone you dislike is a small price to pay. Do not discount anything that might help you.”

The Warlock sighs harder than before and looks down into her lunch. “I’ll try.”

“So,” He muses, lighter, “You’re far older than I gave you credit for.”

“Old,” She scoffs, without any malice behind it. “I will throw this piece of broccoli at you, Commander,” She quips back, lightly. “You’re old too, you know.” She flushes at the playfulness of her comment, but his lip pulls to the right to signal he finds the humor in it, which allows her to relax.

“I would prefer if you did not,” He deadpans. “I have a feeling you would not prefer to be assaulted by this carrot.”

She laughs so hard she snorts, and Zavala follows suit. By the time she leaves his office, she doesn’t feel nearly as angry.

“Thank you,” Miyu calls in her airy voice, lingering in the doorway before she goes. “I feel better now.”

“It was my pleasure,” The Commander says, warmly. “We’ll talk soon."

Golden brown eyes watch as the docile Awoken hovers in the doorway for an extra second before flitting away, a spring in her step that was not present hours before. The pale-skinned Warlock might have feel better, but Ikora is absolutely furious.

“What is he angling at,” She wonders aloud. Ophiuchus, her ghost, the only being around, does not answer her. She follows the Sunsinger until she leaves the Courtyard - which is not what Ikora had told her to do, but she has bigger issues, so it’s actually a help - and heads to the only other person who might know what in the Traveler’s name is happening here.

He’s barking into the comms that feed directly into the arena - Legion’s Gulch, at the moment. She steps in front of him, imposing for a woman who barely reaches his shoulder.

“Shaxx,” She demands, eyes sparking, nostrils flaring. “I need a moment.”


	13. Set Adrift

When Miyu arrives to check in to the Crucible the following morning, Shaxx is standoffish. Not that he normally singles her out, but he usually returns her polite greeting. This time, she's met with an unresponsive helmet and a rigid stance. She sighs, carries on, and preps for transmat.

She doesn't notice the way his faceless helmet shifts, following her until her Ghost takes her away.

Two days after that, she foregoes a fifth match in favor of returning to the Tower. To the casual observer, nothing seems awry. However, Shaxx has not ever been. He watches as the Warlock tips her head in greeting, sees the Commander's lapis gaze clear in recognition, amusement swirling in his glowing cerulean irises. Watches them head to the Hangar a respectable distance apart, but knows something is transpiring.

Shaxx had really, really hoped Ikora was wrong. But, it seems she was not, and that meant he had to speak to Zavala. He is not so tactless to confront them both, but the second Zavala is alone, Shaxx does not hesitate.

It’s off-putting for the Crucible handler to stalk up behind anyone like this, quiet and serious despite his mezzoforte strides. Shaxx relishes that sort of thing, catching someone off guard. “You’re overreaching, old friend,” He says, in a soft parody of his usual timbre and volume. “What are you doing with the Warlock?”

“The Warlock?” Zavala rounds on him, eyeing the other Titan carefully. “Which one?”

“You know damn well which one, Zavala,” Shaxx growls. “About this tall,” He holds his hand up to the bottom of his deltoid, “Awoken. Carries a sword. Seems to spend a great deal of her free time with you-”

“Ikora has been harsh on her,” Zavala interrupts, as it it should explain everything. The Titan Vanguard frowns, clearly realizing how defensive he sounds.

Regardless, Shaxx says neutrally, “I do not blame Ikora for wanting to draw more out of her. If that means she must be harsh, so be it. You do not know what that woman is capable of.”

“Perhaps,” Zavala parries, “But harsh isn’t what she needs.”

“Bah. Handing out blankets and hugs, are you? Ikora asked her to stop her research. I am beginning to suspect you’re encouraging it.”

The Crucible Handler does not pretend to conform to the intricacies of politics, but he so enjoys watching a good backpedal, when someone is caught in the act. Even old friends, as it were. “It is not simply research to her. It is a transition. An evolution.”

Shaxx shakes his head. “Not all of us grow soft in our old age,” He snaps, intending to provoke. Zavala does not rise to the bait. “That woman, Miyu - well, if you had done battle with her at your back, perhaps you would understand.” He eyes Zavala through his helmet, and the sharpness of his gaze does not go unmissed. “Regardless, it’s worth merit to note that you transitioned in subclass, as your priorities and demeanor changed. She is not transitioning in subclass. Her priorities are still the same. This is some stylistic change. A reinvention.”

“Is that so wrong?” The Commander asks. It isn’t that different, he thinks. Though he gravitated from Arc to Void himself, she is similarly switching from an offensive to defensive focus.

“No.” Shaxx grinds out. “But it is a mockery of what she once was. She is not a Titan. She is a sharpened blade, not a wall. Whatever she’s trying to do isn’t what the masters of old intended a Sunsinger - a Dawnblade to be.”

“I didn’t know you to be so well-versed,” Zavala replies, as close to an insult as he gets these days.

The Crucible Handler bristles. Irked, he cannot help himself. “Yes, well... I’ve been spending a great deal of time with Ikora.” Zavala’s eyes cloud with something dark, something that is now very nearly offended. Shaxx almost feels bad, but doesn’t have time for their quarrels, even if he’s heard much of the Warlock Vanguard’s opinions on matters. It matters not to him, so long as he can prepare new Guardians for what they’ll face out in the world through the Crucible. “You are not her Vangaurd. Let Ikora guide her.”

“She won’t accept Ikora’s guidance,” The Commander replies before he can stop himself. It’s true. Miyu is thoroughly disgusted with Ikora at the moment, something that surprisingly had nothing to do with him.

“Then she is beyond our help,” Shaxx says. He turns his head, eyes peering through his helmet at his old comrade before he turns his back to the other Titan. “A pity.”

“You think she should seek out Osiris, then?”

The air leaves his lungs in a woosh. Shaxx chuckles. “That’s what this is all about,” He says humorously to himself. It sounds a touch scathing, even to his own ears, but he’s not sorry for it. “Ikora told her to see Osiris, and you didn’t like that, did you? Of course not. Perhaps what Ikora is doing,” Shaxx roars over a raised hand and the beginning of Zavala’s rebuttal, “Is testing her mettle. She would not interfere with your Titans, you should not interfere with her Warlocks. I should not have to tell you this, Zavala. You know better.”

“I am not interfering. She sought me out.” He bangs his fists on the railing and looks up at the Traveler. “I swear.”

“Well,” Shaxx counters, just a touch more subdued, almost sympathetic. He’s known Zavala long enough to see through any attempt the other Titan could make to lie. He’s being honest. Shaxx will reward that with a truth of is own. “It looks quite a bit like you are trying to turn her against Ikora. That isn’t what you need right now. It isn’t what any of us need. Tread lightly.”

Silence stretches between them for a moment, and Shaxx feels confident enough in the outcome to consider the conversation over.

But then, Zavala speaks. “I will not turn her away,” The Commander informs him. His brilliant blue eyes are hard, unyielding like the wall they stand upon.

Shaxx's gaze follows the set of the shorter man’s jaw, the slightest curl of his lips, the controlled breathing. The restrained frustration. He'll have to learn the hard way, Shaxx realizes. There is nothing more he can do.

“Then you’re a fool.”

-/

It's rare that he needs to meditate in the middle of his day. However, his thoughts are jumbled and scattered, and he knows he will be of no use to himself much less those be serves in this state.

Sometimes, when he meditates, he'll focus on a line, a poem he enjoys. Sometimes he'll utilize a mantra.

But sometimes? Sometimes he needs to stop thinking entirely. That's when the mantras make him reflect instead of setting him adrift, and when he himself is his own worst enemy. His altercation - if one chose to call it that - with Shaxx this morning unbalanced him.

He knows where Shaxx is coming from; Understands that Ikora, from her perspective, feels slighted and betrayed. He knows he's being honest enough with his fellow Titan, that Miyu is allowed to make her own choices, and has. He's sent her to Ikora, for Light's sake. He's not trying to make things worse between them, it's bad enough it's just the two of them left.

However, it comes down to a fact he knows in his heart of hearts: He has never been able to forego helping someone in need (even more so when they reach out to him). He never has, and he never will. Truth be told, he doesn’t regret that about himself, for all the complications it may bring him.

It's been an incredibly long time since his mind has had this much trouble reaching that state of blankness, that pleasant, focused drift that edges upon both enlightenment and Nirvana. Though, that isn't right. He'd had difficulty after Cayde been murdered, and even more so after Uldren had been put down. It was the whole reason why he'd been at the training facility that day, the whole reason why he'd gotten pulled into this mess. He growled, trying to push away that thought.

A few moments of conflicted overthinking that was absolutely not meditation later, he exhales hard and decides he'll get up.

Caught up in all of his loud thoughts, however, he missed the quiet snick of his office door, and the patter of near silent footsteps. Nimble, warm fingers trail over the tense wrinkles across his forehead, and he flinches.

“You're too tense to be meditating. Relax.”

“Miyu-”

“Shush,” She replies in that glass-bell tone of hers. “Breathe,” The Warlock encourages. Her hand slides across the top of his head, over smooth skin. It's strange. Different. Not the right sort of comfortable for achieving the state he has in mind. “Zavala,” She directs, her tone slipping into something harder, more serious. “Stop focusing on my hands, and focus on your breathing.”

Her dominant tone is a surprise. It makes him sit up straighter. He shifts.

“In,” She says, reverting back to that gentle, breezy tone he's more familiar with. She pauses, and he can feel, almost through her fingertips, the breath swelling within her. “Out.”

The petite Warlock sets him adrift, gently smoothing the ends of crows feet as she rubs his temples. Zavala loses himself to the space created by the breath in his lungs, mind anchoring to the cadence she sets until it too fades into nothing.

She's curled around the front of him on the rug when he comes back to himself. Likened to a kitten, she dozes in the shapes the afternoon sun creates through his windows. Her back is to the glass, head pillowed on her right elbow.

More notably, tucked between her forearm and her chest are two Ghosts with dimmed, sleepy optics. Both his and hers.

His mind is clear enough to know what he's looking at. To know what the off-kilter, unabashed realignment of his heartbeat means.

This will only breed more trouble, he thinks to himself. He should get up. He should-

Adelaide twitches suddenly, and a soft hum from the sleeping Warlock draws his gaze to her face. He only knows her eyes open a sliver because their glow swaths her icy cheeks with pale light, but she’s not awake, not really. She shifts, curling further into the sunbeams that dance across his rug, and the arm not acting as a pillow for the three of them curls up, her fingertips touching her lips before brushing the top fins of both their little Lights in equal measure. His partner settles instantly. Miyu’s eyes close right after. Her breathing slows. The trio is relaxed.

A little longer, Zavala decides. He’ll watch them for just a little longer.


	14. Make My Life Difficult

The sun casts deep oranges and purples across the sky as it sets. She lays awake in her spot on the floor for a while, watching it descend beneath the horizon. The Traveler always glows so ethereally in the earliest moments of night. She’s always enjoyed watching it.

Tucked into her arm - the other one now, since she's rolled over to face the window - is Zavala's ghost. She's been resting since this afternoon. Tamashii, her Ghost, is alert and perched carefully on her shoulder.

“That position can't be comfortable, Yu-mi,” He says, in his softest voice.

The Commander shuffles paperwork behind her, in the vicinity of his desk. She doubts he knew she was awake, based on the hard-stop of what sounded like furious scribbling. She wonders if he was drafting something, or perhaps revising.

“I'm fine,” She replies, tipping her head up to her Ghost. He nuzzles against her cheek.

A teeny, tiny voice drones from beneath them, sounding sleep rough, “Why you always call her Yumi?” The all-white Ghost squirms a little to turn herself to face Miyu, but stays cuddled in her arms.

Behind them, the sound of pen on paper starts and stops. Miyu can't be sure if she's smiling at Zavala's behavior or his Ghost's cuteness.

“It's a nickname,” Miyu's own ghost replies.

Adelaide is having none of it. “It's the same length as her name is. Isn't a nickname supposed to be shorter? Zavala calls me Addy sometimes.”

“Does he now,” Miyu's voice is teasing, gentle. “They're meant to be affectionate more than they're meant to shorten a name, unless a name is difficult to say or spell.”

“Zavala gave me my name,” She boasts, puffing her cones up in pride.

“Tell me, Addy-” She pauses. “Can I-”

The Commander's Ghost chimes happily, bestowing permission for the polite Sunsinger to use her informal name, “Mmm hmm!”

“The name Tamashii ga-”

“Her nickname is special,” Ghost interrupts. “The characters you use change the meaning. It can mean ‘archery bow’ and I use it when she's wound up.” He swivels around, moving from the Warlock's shoulder. “Or,” He imparts, “It means ‘beautiful friend.’”

“I bet he means it that way the most,” Adelaide chirps sweetly.

Both Guardian and Ghost laugh. “You'd be surprised,” They say, in perfect sync.

Addy erupts into shrieking giggles, floating around the two of them in a carefree way. She spots her Guardian watching them and trills a happy note before launching herself at the space between his shoulder guard and neck in a Ghost’s version of a hug. Despite her youthful nature, those are rare.

“Having fun?”

“This is nice,” She hums back. “We should do this more.”

“What, fall asleep and let me do all the work?” He teases, his voice soft and warm. “I see how it is.”

“You know what I mean,” She pouts, looking at the report he’s working on. It’s nothing important.

He smiles at her and she nudges him again in a surprise bout of affection. “I do. We’ll see.”

The Warlock rises just as the sun sets, a perfect, lean line against the dimly glowing skyline below. Her hair tumbles down, a bit longer than he recalls by comparison to their first meeting. He wonders idly when he started realizing such trivial details. Her gaze is serious, focused on the Traveler. He sees her fingers clench into fists at her sides, wonders what it is she’s feeling right now, in this moment.

She inhales deep and meets her Ghost’s optic. He bobs over her left shoulder in an affirmative. He wonders if they’re talking to themselves, or if perhaps they don’t need words at all. He finds himself wondering a lot about this woman and what lies beneath her gentle, damaged exterior.

As if sensing his thoughts, she yawns - it sounds like a sound that his own Ghost would make, a high pitched yowl as she stretches that’s - dare he say it - endearing. She tips her head over her shoulder, and fixes him with a smile.

“You almost done over there? I was going to see if you had some spare time.”

“To train?”

“Sure,” She allows, before looking up at the Traveller, looming close and then back at him. “Or, just to talk. Something was bothering you.”

“It’s nothing.”

Her silvery gaze narrows on him, and he finds he is back to being surprised at the seriousness, the force of her gaze. “I don’t expect you to carry all my burdens without me shouldering some of yours,” She finally says.

“That is not necessary.”

“Even still.”

Zavala looks down at the contract he’s reviewing. It can wait. “Has Ikora said anything else to you?”

“No,” Miyu says carefully. Her instincts are good, he can tell she’s trying to figure out the rationale behind him asking. “Should she have?”

“No,” Zavala parrots. “Unless you believe something’s happened.”

She shakes her head. “I’ve been in the Crucible like you two decided. I haven’t heard anything about what she’s asked Osiris, or if he truly wants me to visit like she insists he will.” Still shaking her head, she turns her eyes to his. She taps a finger to the side of her face. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” He organizes his things. “Let’s head down to the City and decide from there how we feel.”

Adelaide watches her eyes cloud and turns her optic from the petite Warlock to her Guardian. Tamashii hovers nearby.

“What is it?” Miyu pushes. When he doesn’t answer, she moves into his personal space, slipping between him and his desk. Her eyes are big, wide, and worried, but they smoulder with with pale flame.

“Miyu. Really, it is nothing.”

“I don’t believe you,” She says, her words biting.

Zavala sighs, lets his eyes flutter shut. Damn it all. “Fine.” He leans forward. “Shaxx decided we needed to have a discussion earlier.”

“About?”

“Meddling in affairs that do not concern me. Specifically ones involving Warlocks who have their own Vanguard.”

He watches her connect the dots, sees her nose scrunch as she thinks. “You’re not meddling,” She growls. Her protectiveness is fierce. “You’re helping me.”

“It doesn’t seem that way. It looks to everyone else that I’m turning you against Ikora.”

She steps back, bumping against his desk. “But - how?”

“You continue to seek me out,” He says, finally.

The room is silent for a moment, the two Guardians standing off, the two Ghosts hovering protectively nearby.

“I - but,” Miyu frowns, looking over at Tamashii, who shrugs with his fins. “You’re the only one who listened... Who didn’t just look at me like some puzzle to unravel, or some charity case who needed treatment. You- I,” She gulps. Inhales and exhales. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to make things more difficult on you.”

The Commander shakes his head, lifting her chin up so he can look into her eyes. His hand rises up to cup her cheek. “For all that transpired earlier, I... realized that I do not care.”

“What?” Her eyes widen, immensely so.

He shakes his head: once, twice. Tips his chin down as he does, speaking in that low, serious tone, his breath warm on her lips. “Make my life difficult. I do not care.”

It’s as if her body reacts before her mind fully catches up, one second she’s marvelling at what he’s saying, wondering if he means it the way it sounds, and the next she’s pushing off from the desk and slotting her mouth against his. He yields to her immediately, though he does not move otherwise.

She draws back a few frantic heartbeats later, her breathing labored. “Oh, Traveller above. Please tell me I didn’t read too much into-”

Zavala descends upon her then, and it’s clear who is in charge of this kiss. It is tender but firm, gentle and strong, his arms coming around her not to cage her in but simply because it feels as if he cannot be close enough to her. His tongue seems to flick gently along her lower lip for permission, though it’s not necessary. She tips her head back in invitation, hums something part enchanted, part hungry when he does. He only relents when it’s clear they need to breathe.

“When I said I did not care, I did not mean-”

The Warlock curls the fingers of one hand over the edges of his breastplate, seeking purchase, chest heaving. She wears a warrior’s look of triumph; A smile, strong and true. “I know,” She grins, the pad of her unoccupied thumb swiping at her kiss swollen lower lip. It’s both confident and enticing, like a glimpse of the woman - of the Light -  within her that’s trapped inside.

He kisses her again, and she surges up against him, warm and wanting.

It feels like her heart is singing. She feels the flames within her, but for once it doesn’t feel like they're controlling her or burning up from within. She feels like she’s making a move, taking a step in the right direction. Like something is going right. She needs to harness, to come to terms with what’s inside her. Like… maybe this is her path.

And maybe she and her Ghost won’t be walking it alone.


	15. Found Out

Nothing changes, and yet, everything does.

The Commander himself is incredibly subtle. She sees him only a touch more than usual - an extra minute here there after a training session, a late night meal in the quiet of his office, taking the long way back to one of their apartments. He does not push her - and very rarely do they engage in anything that would be frowned upon. Certainly no trysts in the office, but a chaste kiss at the corner of her lips if there’s no one around to see, or a hand that barely brushes the small of her back as he passes. She’s as naive and delicate as she is old, her Ghost says (only when they’re alone), and it translates well into blushes that make her cheeks feel like fire.

The handful of times they spend alone, away from the Tower, in the hazy, ethereal glow of the Traveler, however… Those are something different entirely. Where she is meek, she becomes bold, hands skirting over taut muscles and fingers making quick work of well-worn braces and buckles. Where she felt doubt she radiates confidence, bright eyes warm and gentle, her advances becoming more and more sure.

For his part, Zavala does not mind, for the more he learns, the more he’s transfixed by the bloom of this woman into someone he desperately wishes to know everything about. There’s more to her than the gentle, timid creature he sees in the waking hours. And every day, he uncovers a little bit more of her that she keeps sequestered away.

It’s a few weeks after their discovery of the spark between them that Ikora sends for Miyu. The wayward Warlock follows her into her study, a dusty, well-worn nook that looks comparable to the Speaker’s quarters in the old Tower.

“How are you faring,” Her mentor asks, her voice mellow and cool. “You have not checked in with me recently.”

Miyu dips her head, but looks up into the other woman’s eyes as she speaks. “About the same,” She admits. “I have not made any significant progress.”

In that same breezy, unimpressed tone, she continues, “And your work with Zavala bears no fruit as well?”

Ikora’s eyes narrow at the breath that lodges itself in Miyu’s throat. Beside the pale-skinned Awoken, her Ghost spins his segments and watches his Guardian carefully from a respectable distance.

“I did not hear you,” Ikora says, though she knows full well her subordinate has not spoken.

Miyu flinches at the curt tone. Though she has no recollection of what being a child is like, she suspects how she feels now is close to it. “No, Ikora.”

“I had presumed,” She turns her back, wrapping her hands around the opposite elbow, “That you would consider that you are under my jurisdiction.  _My_ student. However, perhaps that was not made abundantly clear.” She paces a few steps before turning back around. “Do you understand the current political state?”

Dark eyebrows furrow. “I don’t follow.”

“Certainly you’ve heard some of what is going on in the Tower, if you haven’t heard it directly from the Commander,” Ikora grouses. “It is no secret-”

Miyu shakes her head. “Ikora, really, that’s-”

“I’m sure he’s plenty kind to you,” She says, easy. “He has always liked taking broken things under his wing.”

Tamashii trembles in rage, his optic narrowing. “Ikora-”

“Enough.” One teal and two amber eyes direct to the pale-faced woman. Her eyes are as hard as they are bright, the spectral glow under her skin well defined in her anger. “What the Commander is helping me with is personal and none of your business. Have I not done as you asked?”

“I asked you to cease this nonsense. You are not a Titan. You are a Warlock. Do you hear me? I am who you seek for issues with your Light.”

Miyu looks up, mustering the least offensive gaze she can. “With all due respect-”

“I’ll not have any more argument on the subject. Whatever lessons, whatever you think it is that’s transpiring between you is over.”

Miyu’s face goes blank. “Is there something you wanted of me, then?”

“Osiris will see you in two weeks’ time.”

“Fine.”

Ikora watches her closely, dropping her defensive stance in lieu of tucking her hands in the long sleeves of her robes. “I know what you’re thinking. I don’t doubt that Zavala is trying to help you. He is a good man at heart. However, I know what is in your best interest. Like you, I’ve had-”

“I don’t believe you do,” Miyu says finally. Her fists are clenched. “Visions or not, you have absolutely no idea what I’ve gone through.”

“Believe what you will,” Ikora says, strangely aloof. “Regardless, Osiris will see you in two weeks. Prepare accordingly. As for the rest, I expect you to follow my orders.”

“We’ll see,” She growls scathingly under her breath, turning her back on her Vanguard in a whirl of dark robes.

“What was that?”

“You heard me,” Miyu says louder, equally detached. Ikora hears everything. Tamashii watches her carefully. She gives him an inscrutable look and straightens. “Don’t pretend like you didn’t.”

“There will be consequences,” Ikora warns her. “The Tower is uneasy, as it stands. I am not the only one you're making look bad, you know. Did you know they think he's turning you against me?” She waits for a beat, but there is no reply. “I see,” She croons, as if Miyu’s replied and she’s found it interesting.

Miyu stays still for a moment, but she does not turn back around. She knows, alright, but the less information she gives Ikora, the better. So, she allows her Vanguard to taunt her.

“You know, but still you persist. I’m not so foolish as to miss those feelings you wear like a coat of arms. If you won’t do it for me, I wonder: would you do it for him?” She calls mockingly, as the other Warlock takes her leave.

-/

She's been ignoring his messages for three and a half days. He looks at his tablet more frequently - and then mentally rebukes himself for doing so. She is a Guardian. He knows that she too has much on her plate...

Except, he's removed her from active duty.

...And, any requests for her to be deployed anywhere have to go through him.

Adelaide tells him not to worry. She forgets that he sleeps very little and can hear the sound of her pinging Tamashii, even when she's trying to be quiet about it. Part of him wonders if perhaps - based on what appears to be his partner's lack of success - she's been sent to see Osiris without his approval. He would have approved, without question. He's told her that.

On the afternoon of the fourth day without contact, his little Light hovers delicately in front of him. He lifts his gaze up to her optic, his brow raised.

“She hasn't left her flat,” Adelaide says softly.

Bright blue eyes blink back, one elegantly sculpted brow arching. “Adelaide-”

Her segments spin. She sighs. “Something happened. Tamashii wouldn't tell me.”

The Commander remains silent for a long moment.

“Zavala,” She presses a fin against the lower stripe of the ice blue tattoo on the left side of his face. “Tamashii can't convince her to come out. But we think maybe you could.”

“If her Ghost cannot-”

“She's not in love with him,” Addy presses. “Not like that. Not like she is with you.”

“Adelaide!”

“Oh, come onnnn.” She hangs back and shrugs. “You'd have to be blind not to see it.”

Zavala sighs. He does see it. He's been trying not to, but… some things are hard to ignore. It is very early. This - it isn't some defined relationship. It's companionship and comfortable and - and -

“I know you're in love with her, too.”

The gentle ripple of starlight under her skin gets more abrupt when he's jolted by his Ghost's easy-going, child-like tone making such a serious assessment. It becomes almost hostile in nature, a combination of surprise and hot embarrassment. He isn't ashamed of what she's saying; It's been centuries since he's come to terms with being an emotional man. While he might try to hide it with walls taller than those around the City…

Adelaide sees straight through him, every single time.

He slides a finger over her top cone, the one that's centered over her optic. “After I finish for the day,” He says. “Let him know I'm coming?”

“I already did,” She coos, cones tilting toward him and spinning as she warbles.

Zavala chuckles. “Of course you have,” He intones in that smooth, rich tone. She's a balm for his ever-fraying nerves. “Thank you, Addy.”

She bumps his forehead lovingly in reply.


	16. Good Enough

Miyu looks at Tamashii, her glowing eyes flat and subdued. She takes a deep breath and exhales in a sigh that wracks her mild frame.

“You take up projects like this when you're sad,” He tells her. “Not that there's anything wrong with that, but... whatever you're doing to this robe… It looks like you're going to plug yourself into an outlet.”

She steps back and regards it with a critical eye. “It kind of does, I suppose. I've been thinking about this for a while, and its purpose is similar enough.”

“It's flame retardant, I hope?” He asks, cheekily.

A pale hand pushes him to the side, though it's not hard enough to do more than waft him gently sideways.

“You know,” He says, flitting about it once more, “It's mostly grey.”

Her eyes narrow, and her disdain is visible. “Good materials almost always come in blasé colors.”

Ghost sighs, pushing his cones out as they orbit around him, floating casually to the edge of the room - toward the entryway - and back. “Yu-mi, relax.”

She lays some intricate cording around the collar and sighs. “I can't.”

“It’s going to be okay,” He reminds her. His cones flutter carefully as he returns to her side and perches himself in the crook of her neck. “I'm with you, always. It's going to be okay.”

“I'm tired of crying,” She says thickly, patting the top of him. He doesn't need to look to know she's in tears. “Tamashii, I'm so very tired of all of it.”

“You should talk to Zavala.”

“But Ikora-”

Ghost scoffs. “Fuck Ikora.” At his Guardian's shocked reaction, he moves to hover in front of her face. “That woman is as haughty as her predecessor these days.” He drifts up and fades down, exasperated. “ _My student_ ,” He growls. “She's a joke. You know that the way she's been conducting herself since Cayde died is completely inappropriate.”

“She's still my Vanguard.”

“Even so: Zavala doesn't care. He told you, point blank.”

“Still. We don't hurt the people we love,” She says, softer. She plucks her partner out of the air and cradles him close. “It's not right.”

Tamashii sighs again. “Well, what do you call this, then?”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“Four days, Miyu. You've been cooped up for four days. This project is an excuse. A good one, yes, but... it's still an excuse not to talk to someone who is very worried about you.”

“But, he hasn't-”

“Messaged you? Adelaide started pinging me hours after you went silent. He's worried. They thought you went off planet, or that you were upset with him.”

“I'm not!” She looks at him in surprise. “I-I didn't mean-”

Tamashii nudges her cheek. “You need to tell him what's going on. He isn't a mind reader.”

“I just - I didn't think it mattered that much to him. I'm not… not-”

“It upsets me that you think so little of yourself,” Her partner says. “You’re so much more than you give yourself credit for.” Tamashi sways around her. “You shine brighter than the Sun.”

“I used to!” She exclaims. “Now, all I do is melt my own fingers off!” Her eyes spark in fury. “Everyone talks about what I was capable of and how they know how I was and I’m NEVER, EVER JUST ENOUGH! Just me, Tamashii. Not ‘the Hiveslayer of Burning Lake,’ not ‘the Sunsinger,’ not ‘the Dawnblade,’ just Miyu.” Her breaths come in great heaves, her eyes wild. “I just want to be good enough. Just me. Not the idea of what I could be, not the person I was.” She looks down at her hands, clenches her fists. “Just me. As I am, right now.”

A polite, staccato rap draws her attention to the door. She looks at Tamashii, eyes narrowing.

He shrinks back, as if he's going to the door before thinking twice on the matter. “I don't mean to meddle,” He tells her, soft enough for the man on the other side of the door not to hear. “I just - you've always been good enough for me, Miyu. And the Commander has never asked for more than you were able to give. I think he's good for you.”

Miyu nods, taking a deep breath to compose herself. “Is Addy pinging you?”

“I, uh,” If a Ghost could flush, she thinks he would. “They, uh, heard your… outburst.”

She closes her eyes and sighs. “Okay.” It does nothing to abate the flush from her cheeks or her bloodshot eyes, but she swipes beneath her eyes in an attempt to herself presentable as she moves to the door.

Not that she'd ever know, she's too busy looking at her own feet when she finally opens the barricade between them, but he too is averting his gaze. His shoulders are rounded, sullen, sad even, and he sighs when she beckons him inside.

“Would you rather I go?” He asks, sounding subdued and worn out. She wonders belatedly how late it is. “If you would like time to-”

A chance gaze up into his eyes makes her heart hurt. Tamashii is right. She's hurting him, behaving this way. “No, no. Please come in, Zavala.”

Her abode is minimalist with the exception of what might have been a dining area that she uses as a work space, so they end up facing each other on opposite sides of the couch. Zavala eyes her warily, as if any motion might frighten her into running away.

“I wanted t-”

“I owe you an-”

They both sigh, their words tripping over the other's. The Commander motions to her. “Go ahead, Miyu.”

“I’m sorry if I've upset you,” She murmurs, making sure to hold his gaze. “I wasn't ignoring you because I'm angry at you, or upset. You're wonderful,” She admits, and his eyes soften at her compliment, until she continues. “More than I deserve.”

Zavala shakes his head, gesturing between them. “What about this don't you deserve?”

She shrugs, as if that should explain everything. He levels her with a stare until she mumbles, “I really don't know.”

“Out there,” He says, gesturing to her door and the world outside it, “I cannot show favoritism or emotion. My feelings,” He concedes, “Do not matter when it comes to defending the greater good. Not my grief, nor anger, or even love.” She looks up at him, and the spark of hope in her eyes is almost too radiant to look at. “Miyu, out there, this - I cannot place you before the rest of them, no matter how I find myself wanting to. Our relationship is… important to me, but my duty must always come first. That is the path I must follow.”

Miyu looks down at her lap, at deft, large fingers that curl over her hands.

“You are special to me, Miyu. It is you who deserves more than I can give you.”

She shakes her head. “Everyone assumes they know what I need, or who I am. You are the only one - outside of my Ghost - who tries to understand. Who doesn't expect me to be someone I used to be.”

“I will admit,” He rumbles, “I am quite smitten with you as you are.” His free hand tucks a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “What I care about, is how you feel.”

Her eyes flutter close as he smooths her hair back, his palm coming to rest on her cheek afterward. When she looks back at him, he's gazing at her in admiration and compassion. And, something… even deeper than that. She leans into his touch.

“Zavala, I-” She takes a deep breath and lets it go, collects herself. “I have feelings for you.” The left side of her lips curl up in a tiny, secret smile, and he leans forward in earnest, matching her small grin. She continues, heartfelt, “But I don't want to make things worse for you and Ikora. You've both been through a lot lately and I-”

“That isn't for you to worry about.” His tone is firm, though his fingers swipe across her cheek in a maddeningly gentle caress.

She tips her head out of his grasp. “That isn't how it works,” She says, quicksilver eyes flitting up to him, bright in the dim light of the room. “You don't get to worry about me if I don't get to worry about you.”

He looks amused at that. “Oh?” It's clear he isn't used to being chastised like this.

“I'm being serious,” She pouts, lip curling in a way that's cute, but that cuteness stops at hard eyes. “I’ve told you before: I worry about you, too. Even if I have my fair share of problems.”

The hand over hers laces their fingers, squeezing. “We all have problems,” He intones sagely. He mulls things over for a moment, before telling her, “I would not be averse to sharing some of mine, but this goes both ways.” His eyes are cool, collected. It’s as if he's brokering a deal. She suspects that’s exactly what he’s doing. “I expect you to tell me what's bothering you, to have kept you locked away for as long as you have been.”

She sighs. “I kind of did.”

“You kind of-” He repeats sharply, squeezing his eyes shut as he replays the conversation over in his mind. Cerulean eyes snap open when he figures it out. “What did Ikora say to you?”

“She was horrible,” Tamashii says, zipping over in-between them from the other room, unable to help himself.

“Easy,” His Guardian chides, her gaze stern. “Let me talk to him,” She presses. The Ghost’s shell droops a little, but Miyu nudges him gently and he settles on her shoulder. “She’s not happy,” The Warlock says once her little Light is situated. “She gave me the impression that what we’re doing - that is, you helping me figure out what’s wrong with my Light - is untoward. Selfish, on my part, both in neglecting her guidance and keeping you from your duties.”

“What about the part where she doesn’t want you to see him anymore,” Adelaide calls, joining them in the small living room area. She boops Miyu’s cheek before hovering above her Titan’s shoulder.

“I don’t think she meant it like that,” Miyu says to the white-shelled Ghost. “She didn’t mean this,” She gestures between herself and Zavala before tipping her head to the side and asking, “You don’t think she meant it like that, do you?”

“She’d have no reason to,” Zavala tells them. Gruffly, he says, “She and I are at odds. It looks as though I am turning you against her, which I’ve told you. That bothers her. That is what Shaxx told me. As for the rest, with Cayde gone-” He does not lock up much at the mention of his fallen comrade, but his voice does get softer, “Everything has become politics. The Consensus is looking for points of weakness, the Factions are looking to pit us against each other. Anything one takes from the other becomes a point of contention.”

“What has Ikora told you?” Miyu asks.

Zavala shakes his head. “About you? Nothing. It’s as she says: We rarely speak outside of Consensus meetings.”

“It isn’t as she says. She believes you to be drowning in your grief.”

“It feels like it, much of the time,” He admits.

Miyu tugs him over with surprising strength, and Adelaide takes that momentary shift to read the room and transmat away his bulky armor. She can feel the indignant sound he wants to make in his chest, but wraps her arms around him tighter, until he shifts and relaxes, half-curled on the moderately-sized couch, his head in her lap, face pressed against her thigh.

“I want you to be happy,” She whispers, fingers stroking the smooth skin of his head from crown to temple and back.

A wide palm comes to cover her knee. “I am finding it is far easier to be when I am with you.”

She gazes down at him and smiles, small and sweet. “Me too.”


	17. Where the Pieces Fall

He makes it a point to walk with her the next morning, from her small flat to the top of the Tower. They do not hold hands, but their Ghosts drift amiably over their shoulders and their conversation is earnest and fond. Teal optics regard Shaxx as he watches their Guardians warily. Unaware, or perhaps purposefully ignorant, the pair walks to the edge of the deck where Zavala spends most of his day dealing with the Guardian population.

Miyu makes it a point to check her service revolver before tucking it into her belt. “ You’re sure this is okay,” She confirms, fidgeting just slightly, uneasy about the fleeting looks she has managed to attract in the last forty-five minutes since they'd left her flat together. It was glaringly obvious he'd spent the night. The number glances she'd actually received was not really that many, but it certainly felt like all eyes were on them. Besides, she knew it only took one person to get every Guardian in the system talking.

“It will be fine,” He soothes. He'd sensed her trepidation, and did his best to distract her with conversation. It had worked, for the most part. “You've done nothing wrong. Don't fret.”

“I trust you,” She breathes, taking a deep breath. “Anyway,” She says, “The Crucible calls. I’ll catch up with you later.”

He braces her shoulders in a Titan-like encouragement. “Give them hell, Miyu.”

She nods, his confident gaze and steady words earning him a wry smirk that's nearly a smile. “I’ll try.”

When she takes her leave, he watches her go. Shaxx is watching him carefully in turn. Miyu addresses him a moment later, jarring the large Titan from whatever he'd been thinking. Zavala wonders if he's still Ikora's confidante. As planned, this will be a way for them to tell, for sure.

The truth is that they had both slept very little last night. Instead, they had laid awake, discussing how to proceed. Like Miyu has felt toward her Light, Zavala similarly harbours resentment toward Ikora's attitude and they way fell apart when they should have been sticking together.

He… definitely overshared, he felt. However, when her slender fingers trailed over his head, down the back his neck, along his spine, and back up, he found the words came easy. The few times he'd stopped, she'd slide those fingers under his chin and tip his face up to meet her eyes and encouraged him to continue or remind him that she's listening with a gentle squeeze to the back of his neck, an arm, whatever she could. Her gentle sincerity spoke volumes.

But more than that, so finally did she.

“We're better than this,” She'd said to him, their Ghosts resting silently between them, snatching any precious seconds of rest they were allowed. Where doe eyes would usually accompany her words, he found himself looking into a prideful warrior's gaze. “I have to be better.”

And in that moment, in the dark of one day bleeding into the light of the next, he'd found both solace and resolve. It filled his chest with warmth, both the comfort of his Light and the realization of hope.

“We have to be better,” He revised. “I need to work with Ikora better as well,” He'd told her, not long after that. “We deserve to grieve, but we must keep moving forward.”

-/

She feels good, today. Maybe it's from the rest, from her days hiding away. Maybe it's from unburdening herself of some of the nasty, ugly feelings of futility and worthlessness that have been weighing her down.

Either way, her blade is strong, firm in her hand, and her steps are light and uninhibited. She feels more comfortable in her own skin than she has in ages.

It shows in her results. She even manages a weak two-throw Dawnblade that hurts like hell, but not quite so unbearably that she cannot continue. It feels like progress, even despite the smell of burnt flesh, the smoldering leather. She knows the sword feels heavy and wrong though, her Light urging her in a different direction.

Halfway considering an experiment in which she plunges her sword into the ground and acts on instinct - she can almost see it, grasps at the half-formed picture of her Light's evolution like a fever dream at the edges of her mind - Shaxx calls the match. He bellows for them to clear out of Midtown. Miyu looks around. The rest of her matchmade-team looks similarly confused. The other team as well. Someone consults their Ghost. Something is wrong.

Their teams are tied.

Shaxx hates a tie.

-/

Lord Shaxx is steely and silent. He paces violently in the Commander's office, helm still on despite the closed door and lack of an audience. Zavala watches him.

“Are you going to tell me what is troubling you, old friend, or should I allow you to continue all afternoon?”

“I implicitly told you what you were doing, what it looked like.” Shaxx stops to face the Commander, sitting behind his desk. “And yet, you've persisted. Tell me: is it worth the amount of strife it will bring?”

“Did you notify Ikora immediately this morning?” Zavala inquires, almost airily. Like a clucking hen, Shaxx is. “I figured you would.”

The Crucible Handler growls but does not give an answer. “You understand,” he says, “That Ikora gave her a point-blank directive.”

“I have made plans to speak with Ikora about that, later this evening. I will not rehash my decisions with everyone who walks the Tower.”

“But you've allowed the entire Tower to see the two of you together, blatantly so. They question everything these days. They will think you're involved!” Shaxx slaps his palms down on the edge of the desk and it rattles. “That's almost worse than them thinking you're turning her against Ikora!”

Zavala is cool and unyielding, unbothered by the persistent baiting. “Sit down,” He beckons.

“Si - sit down?” He roars. “Are you to placate me like you've been trying to do to the sole surviving member of your Fireteam?”

“That,” The other Titan intones, though he seems a touch repentant, or perhaps Shaxx has hit a nerve, “Is a matter between myself and Ikora. I will address it with her.”

“Oh, finally willing to shoulder some of the blame-”

“Enough.” Shaxx's momentum hits a wall. “Ikora and I will discuss matters that pertain to us. I will not hear any more of your pot-stirring, whether it is Ikora’s directive, or otherwise.” Zavala's voice lowers an octave, business-like and smooth. “Stay out of it.”

Shaxx drops into the chair previously offered. “Fine. I still wish to know what you stand to gain by your actions with Miyu. She is,” Shaxx breaks off, shaking his head in silence. He undoes the clasps to his helm, sets it on the desk in front of him and regards Zavala carefully. “She may read into things, and the rumors that shall begin circulating about the two of you-”

Zavala does not flinch. “Rumors,” He says, carefully. “That we walked from her flat, to the Tower this morning?”

“Yes, Zavala. She's fragile right now. Certainly you know how others treat her.”

“Fragile enough to step foot in your Crucible.”

“It's not her skills that make her a liability, and you know that. Her little project, the one you're working on,” He gestures with a wave of his hand. “You spend time with her. She might get attached.”

“But what if,” Zavala says, as nonchalantly as he can muster, “I were to become attached as well?”

“No.” Shaxx brings a gauntleted fist to cover his mouth. “You didn't. Tell me you did not.”

The Commander gives him nothing. “I am merely speaking in hypotheticals.”

Shaxx levels him with a still-surprised glare. “No, you are not. I know you, and I know her. If you - and she - then...” He trails off, sighs. Crosses one leg over the other and mulls it over. “It would make sense, I suppose, but I wonder how forthcoming she is about things with you considering her present status.”

“She is… open about things, I would say.”

“She is, is she now? What she is now, it's - she is a good person, and I don't mean to discredit you, Zavala. But you must understand: that woman, what she is, compared to what she was-”

“She is insistent that she despises that,” Zavala interrupts. “She knows what she was, and she knows it varies greatly from how she has been, since the Cabal’s attack on the City and the Traveler.” His voice drops, becomes more somber. “We have both agreed to work on the things we can change.”

Shaxx leans in, just a touch, eyes piercingly locked on those of his friend. “And the things you can't?”

“To learn to accept them and move forward.”

“Are we talking about Cayde or about Miyu?”

“Either. Both.”

That's not the answer the more volatile of them wants to hear. “If you mean to tell me she's accepting that she'll never cast Dawnblade without the Traveler's bloody Light trying to rent her in twain, so help me-”

“I do not know what she thinks, on that front.”

“Then what do you know?”

Zavala regards him. There is the slightest glimmer of something new in his eyes, his posture proud but relaxed, less tense than usual. It's both familiar and not, Shaxx thinks. Perhaps, he muses to himself, they've found solace in each other.

“That she is free to make her own choices. Regardless of what I, or you, or even Ikora want for her. Miyu is… not any lesser than she was before.”

“You don't know that. You weren't with us at Burning Lake, you didn't see with your own two eyes the things I saw her do.”

If that throws Zavala for a loop, he does not react. Shaxx had sorely hoped it would, hopes still that it does, even if he does not indicate it. “I have not,” The Vanguard Commander agrees. “But I know a warrior's heart, Shaxx, all the same. She will find her way.”

“...Or, Ikora will beat it out of her,’ Shaxx grits, under his breath.

“What?”

Shaxx uncrosses his legs, then re-crosses them with the opposite one on top. “You heard me.” Zavala rises swiftly, fury morphing his features into something deadly dangerous. Shaxx is unimpressed. “Sit. Down. There is nothing that can be done for it now.”

“I will not-”

“She can fight her own battles,” Shaxx interrupts, rising as well. “I will not involve myself in your quarrel with Ikora any longer. You have my word. But, even so,” He looks his friend in the eye, imploring him to understand his resolve. “I cannot allow you to intervene.”


	18. The Lioness and the Antelope

Fury is etched into every trail of light beneath his skin, in his irises, the very posture he maintains. His shoulders are tight and tense, and if he were a younger, more reckless man, he is certain some volume of arc energy would have skittered across his skin like wayward lightning. Instead, he remains confined to his chair, watching Shaxx backpedal to explain himself while he attempts to maintain some modicum of control over his anger.

“Ikora had asked me,” The larger Titan is saying, “To give her time to test Miyu’s skills. To see where she stood with her Light.”

“Ikora knows nothing of what is happening with her Light.”

“She knows-”

“She has not seen,” Zavala barely restrains himself from bellowing. “There is a point after which Miyu’s Ghost cannot heal her.”

“Resurrection-”

“It does not work like that.” The Commander laces his fingers and squeezes the combined fist his hands make. “It helps, but not completely. The situation is unique. Delicate, if you will.” His eyes level with Shaxx, hard and unyielding. “How long did she say she would need?”

“I have Arcite running matches in other arenas. She did not say.”

Zavala growls. “When you receive confirmation that they are finished, I would like to know about it.”

“You have my word. If Ikora says-”

“I do not want to hear what Ikora has to say, unless it comes from Ikora herself. That is the only way things will improve.”

Shaxx dips his head in a nod, still trapped in the Commander’s ferocious gaze. It’s been some time since he’s seen his friend’s wrath on full display. “As you wish.”

-/

Ikora circles her, like a lioness would her prey. It’s fitting, as Miyu’s heartbeat is akin to that of an antelope, a thready, unbalanced flutter in both surprise and panic. The Awoken woman holds out both hands in a non-threatening manner, knees bent to lower her center of gravity. She balances precariously on the precipice of fight or flight.

“Well?” The Warlock Vanguard asks, tapping the barrel of her trusted shotgun into the cupped palm of her other hand. “I’ve offered you the first shot. Let’s see it.”

“You took my gun,” Miyu chimes, quietly.

“I did not take your sword, though. Make your move.”

Miyu knows that Ikora is angry, that likely this morning’s events have reached her ears to cause current events. There is very little that Ikora is not privy to. That much has always been true. She sighs. “Ikora, I do not-”

“I do not care if you do not wish to fight me. You will.”

“Please, Ikora, let me explain.”

The other Warlock’s nostrils flare. “There is nothing to explain, Grey.”

Miyu shakes her head, knowing Ikora wants her to rise to the bait. “You and I both know that’s not true.” She lowers her stance further, despite herself. The fine hairs at the base of her neck stand in anticipation. Ikora almost always gets her way, and it is unlikely this time will be any different. “You truly wish to fight me?”

“I wish to see just how fruitful your efforts have been, to encourage you to continuously defy my orders.”

“If,” She looks up through dark lashes at her Vanguard leader, her quiet voice low and reedy, heavy with humidity and the threat of something building, “If you had tried to listen to me when I asked, it wouldn't be like this.”

Ikora tuts. “I told you to speak up. If you do not make yourself a priority, how am I supposed to?”

“Ikora. Things, they aren't - I didn't want to defy you. But at least…”

“At least?” Ikora echoes, sing-song and mocking in her delivery.

“At least Zavala cares!” Miyu roars. “You couldn't care less if you tried.”

That elicits a frown from the other woman. “That's not true.”

Miyu juts her chin up. “You're intrigued by me because I'm a puzzle to solve, a problem to unravel. There's no autonomy in your reactions at all, except to keep me away from Zavala because you're upset with him. And that's only for you! You care about what Osiris says, about 'fixing me,’” She quotes with shaking fingers. Her eyes blaze with solar fire, chest heaving as she all but screams, “But I'm  _NOT_  broken!”

And yet, despite herself, when the fire takes shape in the palm of her hand, it burns her.

Ikora calls the slippery cool of the void to deflect the attack away as though it is childsplay, an affront to the skillset any Warlock should have.

“That is all you have? Pathetic.”

Miyu snarls at that and calls more flame to her palm. Tamashii appears beside her. “Wait,” He cries. “Yu-mi, wait!”

“She wants to see,” She bites back at her Ghost, her wrath visible in her cold gaze. “I'll show her if I must.”

“It's too risky,” He tells her. “We don't know how much I'll-”

“Quiet, Ghost,” Ikora barks. “This is a matter between your Guardian and me.”

His white and gold shell prickles and pushes out with his outburst of, “I will not! You have no right to treat her this way.”

“Tama,” Miyu calls. He turns to face her. She sees his worry, carved into every shifting twitch of his shell. Her voice is firm. “ _Daijoubu._  Let us go. Everything will be fine.”

“Miyu,” He replies, eyeing Ikora warily before hovering closer. His voice drops. “ _Anata no koto ga shinpai desu._ ”

She tips her lips into a gentle smile. She knows his concern. Appreciates it. He is her guiding Light, and through all her lives she’s always known that to be the truth. “ _Hikari no Tama_ , it will be alright.”

The last time he'd called her that, it was when she begged him to phase into her, to release his physical form so that he would not be a target in the hours after the Cabal attack. He shudders. Her choice of words frighten him. He does not like the helpless feeling that accompanies watching his Guardian teeter on the edge.

“I trust you,” He says, despite it. “I won't interfere.” She nods. He dips his cones in a resolute nod. “For now.”

Miyu smiles harder at that. “I'm counting on you,” She murmurs. And then she calls on the flame.

-/

He flies faster than he ever has in his life. He knows the transmat location by heart; He moves before he’s materialized in the familiar spawn. He ducks just below awnings and ceilings in the covered areas, phases through door frames and arches at a speed that he’s sure less experienced Ghosts - or those with a need for speed would adore.

But he does not adore this.

This skill, this speed, was gained from dazzling, daring maneuvers on repeat for centuries. From learning terrifying enemies. From fight or die, from promising ‘I won’t leave you,’ from learning how to fight in the ways only a non-combatant knows how.

If he had a body, he wonders if he’d be out of breath. He figures he probably would. But, he does not, so it’s only panic that shakes his voice when he finally reaches his destination.

“Zavala!” He cries, in a yell that makes the other person in the Commander’s office turn. “Help her! I-I can’t-”

It’s Shaxx, Miyu’s Ghost realizes belatedly. “Gho-”

“Tamashii, tell me where to go.” Adelaide appears in a flash of Light beside Zavala, the back plates of her shell spinning in preparation for transmat.

Shaxx looks between the gold trimmed Ghost and the Commander. He stands. “I’m going too.”

“No,” Zavala and his Ghost say in perfect sync. The Commander’s frown is deep, his eyes blown wide with worry he cannot contain. “This is not a public matter,” He says, tone brokering no argument.

“I-” Tamashii spins anxiously, looking between the two Titans and their Ghosts. “We need all the Light we can get. Ophiuchus and I could not bring her back together.”

Shaxx winces when Zavala’s fist leaves the top of his desk in dust and splinters.


	19. The Speaker

The scent of incense is pungent and heady in the air. She blinks at the coils of smoke as they rise up, up, into the late evening air.

She knows this place.

Beside her, the Speaker’s voice is warm and rough. She has not heard it in ages. “What makes a Guardian?” He queries. He is not looking at her, nor does his Ghost hang over his shoulder. In his hands is a shell of red and white that he must have been working on. His work was always so intricate and beautiful. He turns to set it aside, in a niche between between ancient tomes in his work space.

There are warm sandstone walls, ivy curling down through massive bookshelves. A gentle breeze makes the chimes ding softly, and the lanterns overhead sway. She looks at him, studying the cracked mask that covers his face.

Odd…

He is watching her intently, waiting for her reply. Finally, she parrots what he's preached. “Devotion. Bravery. Sacrifice. Death.”

“Ah,” He replies. “An appropriate answer for sure, but is it the best one?”

She tips her head. “Those are your teachings.”

He chuckles. “Both mine and not mine.” He folds his hands behind his back. “Answer me this: What makes  _you_  a Guardian?”

Miyu thinks on it. Finally, she says, “The desire to protect those who cannot protect themselves. To stand with the Traveler and humanity against all those who would wish us harm.”

This time, he turns toward her. She feels something, like a teardrop on her cheek, but when she goes to brush it away, she feels nothing there. No trace of moisture. She inspects her fingertips to be sure.

The Speaker hums. “He has always had such unshakable faith,” He says cryptically, reaching over to close his gloved fingers over her bare ones. Her fingers twitch subconsciously beneath the smooth material as if there’s something in her palm. “I put so much onto them, that I find myself wondering how much more they can take.”

  
She watches him carefully, as if the damaged mask will give some hint of his meaning away. “Speaker?”

The Speaker moves past her, out to an area of the Tower with a more open view of the sky. She follows. “Ikora and Zavala are great leaders,” He imparts sagely, “But they are people as well. They have suffered a great loss. As have you. As have I. They must make peace with each other.”

“They have not tried very hard,” She admits softly.

“They are not ready yet, but, that is alright. They deserve to grieve as well. They will get there.” He looks down at the City below. “We all have things in our past we wish we did not. Regrets. Failure. Suffering. Loss. In our darkest moments, we pay homage to those feelings by rising above them. By letting them temper our Light and continuing forward. By showing that we can never truly be broken. Maybe in body, but never in spirit.”

Bright eyes look up at the Traveler, complete. Silent. They stand that way for some time. “You aren’t the Speaker, are you?”

He laughs, a raspy, paper-like sound. “I am, and I am not.”

She nods, not surprised. Accepting, perhaps. She reflects a moment more. He gives her space, allows her time. “I have to find my own way. Not Zavala’s, not Ikora’s. Mine. I know I am more than this,” She finishes quietly, looking at her hands. Some part of her is expecting them to be burned. They are pale and devoid of trembling. Whole.

“The journey will be harrowing. You will hurt those who care for you, very much.”

She looks down; Feels what he is saying in her soul. “I know.”

Though his face is covered, she can hear the smile in his tone: almost doting and yet never overtly so. “It does not sound as though you plan to shy away.”

“I don’t.”

“Good.” He puts a hand on her shoulder, and it feels warm. Soothing. More. “The Light will guide you, when you are ready. You mustn’t be afraid. Even in the darkest of places, the Light will find its way.”

They look up at the sky together once more. The Traveler is framed perfectly by the walls of the Speaker’s observatory, perfect and whole and beautiful to behold. Something about that makes her frown, but the thought is fleeting.

Moments or maybe hours pass. There is a warm breeze, and it feels like someone is touching her face with a gentleness that she cannot possibly fathom. It feels peaceful.

“While this has been a nice reprieve,” He murmurs, in that tone that suggests she’s dallied too long when he’s working on a project and cannot afford to be disturbed, “Certainly you must be needed elsewhere. I suspect those who care for you are very much concerned.” He turns toward her once more, the edges of her vision fading to white. “Even those you might not expect.”

It’s not unpleasant, but there is a tug in her middle like she’s fading away. “Will - will I see you again?” She breathes, feeling much like she’s falling asleep and trying to stave off the feeling.

“Likely not. For the best, really. It had been so long since I had heard the Traveler speak. You Guardians are all its voices now.” She smiles sadly, through the feeling of drifting off. “I trust you will do us proud, Guardian.”

There is so much she wishes to say, but not nearly enough time. “Thank you,” She settles on, the words thick in her mouth. Her eyes droop all the same.

His warm, familiar laugh is the last sound she hears before everything goes white.

-/

“Enough,” She hears someone say. Her eyes are heavy. She feels like she hasn’t slept in centuries; Wants nothing more than to curl up tight and let the sounds all around her fade. She feels tingly and numb all over. “... like she’s waking up now.”

Is that Ikora?

“Her hands-” Shaxx, too?

Ghost cries in something half concerned, half victorious, “They’re healing!”

She’s held tighter, can feel where her cheek is pressed against cool metal. Her brows scrunch, and she makes a sound that is more akin to a groan than something coherent.

“Open your eyes, Miyu,” He says, voice a quiet rumble, breath on the shell of her ear. She would know that voice anywhere. “Come on.” Then, as she’s trying to do as she’s told, she hears the softest, unsteady plea. “Please.”

“Mmm.” Her eyelids flutter. Tears track down her cheeks, but she does not remember crying.

A cool hand touches her brow. The palm of it is practically the size of her head, so she knows the person touching her is Shaxx. “Slowly, Mimi.”

A softer, younger-sounding, metallic voice coos, “Don’t push it. That had to be rough.”

Lunar eyes open, their glow reflecting off the battered breast plate of Zavala’s armor. Her lashes beat once, twice against her cheek as her eyes focus, and then she’s drowning in cool, vivid blue. He’s watching her carefully, she notices, though focusing is a difficult task in of itself.

His eyes are limned in red.

“Do you remember what happened?” Zavala murmurs to her. Relief and worry war in his features, and she wants to touch his face but she can’t seem to feel her hands.

She dips her head, eyes downcast. It takes her a moment of racking her memory to reply. “Yes,” She eventually replies. In her periphery, Ikora tenses and everything blurs. “How-” Her voice sounds feeble to her own ears. She clears her throat, but has to close her eyes to speak without feeling like everything is spinning. “How long was I out?”

Ikora’s voice is subdued, stormy. Far away. “It-” Her voice cracks. “It has been... hours, since I-” The choked off resentment in her tone is not directed at Miyu. It’s turned inward, toward herself. “We were only able to bring you back an hour ago. You will need time to recover. After you’re feeling better, I would like to see you,” She pauses, sounding unsure. “If that is alright.”

Zavala cups her face, thumb brushing across her cheekbone, but his eyes dart up to look at his fellow Vanguard. His features change then, into something akin to a snarl, his eyes darting in a rare kind of fury that renders him speechless. It does not look good on him. Ikora’s face remains stoic, but her eyes drop to the ground. She seems unwilling to wait for a reply.

“We’ll be in touch,” Miyu's Ghost says for her, an easy barrel-roll of his small body meant to cast off the strange anxiety that’s settled over them. He swivels back to his Guardian. “Her heart rate and blood pressure are still low, but stabilizing. I don’t think she’ll be up and moving for a bit.”

“If you need anything,” Ikora says. “Contact Ophiuchus and I will be right there.”

Tamashii bobs in the affirmative. The Warlock Vanguard looks over to Zavala once more. His eyes dare her to challenge him - a strangely ruthless, aggressive look for him - but it is too much for his counterpart and Ikora takes her leave.

Shaxx rises. “I - ah,” He stretches, as though taking a knee had gotten to him. “The same for me, Ghost. Simply call and I shall be there. Though,” He eyes her carefully until she tracks him. It's almost too slow to be purposeful. “I suspect she’s in good hands.”

Then, they’re alone. She can still smell ash and heavy ammo, but the dampness of the earth lingers. It is blessedly silent. She is light-headed and limp, her eyes heavy, breaths slow and long. The pads of blue fingers tuck her hair back with gentle precision, and he runs his knuckles down her cheek in time to her breathing.

Tamashii and Adelaide flutter around her, scanning her carefully in twin, glowing beams.

Zavala holds her close for a long, long time.


	20. The Way Forward

She isn’t really awake when he rises with her in his arms, the wan rippling of starlight beneath her skin only the slightest bit dimmer than her eyes. Her head lolls against his armored chest, not softly, but not hard enough to hurt. Still, she hums some intelligible sound against him, relaxing when he says her name.

His measured, serious steps are easy to drift in and out to, but the whirlwind of transmat jolts her awake with a gasp.

“I’ve got you,” He tells her, his voice soft, breath warm against her forehead, when her breathing quickens and both Ghosts zoom in frantically. He presses his lips to her skin, featherlight. “It’s alright.”

She replies moments later, groggy and sleep-addled. “You’re squeezing me like it’s not.”

When what she says sinks in, he does his best to relax his grip. “Did I hurt you?”

She shakes her head, clearing some of the foggy feeling away. “Not at all,” Miyu replies.

He strides down a long hallway. His quarters, she realizes. Miyu keeps her gaze trained on him. He does not hold eye contact long, but she does feel his fingers twitch with the urge to hold her tighter again.

“Talk to me,” She says, when he lays her on one side of the bed.

Zavala turns away, rounds the bed and doffs his armor with a practiced slowness, the methodical unclasping of buckles and ties giving him something to do so she won't see the tremble of his hands. It would be too telling of his emotional imbalance, the war of fury and fear that he desperately needs to get under control.

Tamashii and Adelaide flit above her. When she props herself up on her elbows to try and remove her robes, they both make intelligible sounds of distress and assist her. Her Ghost's voice is firm. Worried. “Your blood pressure is still lower than usual. Hold still.”

“I'm okay,” She breathes into the relative quiet of the room.  “Just tired. I promise.” It is a good thing they intervened, though. Her vision swam a little around the edges with the movement.

“Let us take care of you,” Tamashii tells her in that gentle, almost timid, way of his that reminds her that he's just been put through something very bad. The little wobble of his voice suggests he needs to help her as much as she needs to be helped. Her sweet, precious Ghost. She reaches for him and he comes, sinks into her damaged palm with a shivering tumble. “I'm sorry,” He murmurs, shaky. Adelaide bobs overhead in silence. “Just for a little while.”

She cradles him close. “It's okay, Tamashii. I'm here.” She takes a moment to continue. “I'm sorry I frightened all of you.” He bumps her hand and phases away. She feels him like she would an overshield, his presence lurking protectively around her mind. It's Zavala's ghost that transmats away everything but her undergarments. She shifts, trying to get comfortable. She does feel a little achy, now that she thinks about it.

The bed dips beside her, and she rolls over to face him. The effort is harder than she cares to admit, but the hand he places on her cheek is warm. Soothing. She shuffles toward him and he moves his hand to her waist to pull closer.

He does not speak, not with words. His eyes say something else. They speak of fear. Concern. Worry.

Miyu lays the palm of her hand over his heart. It shakes with effort and the phantom tingles of nerve damage. “I'm fine, Zavala. Really.”

His unoccupied hand squeezes the one she’s laid on his bare chest; he's stripped into loose sleep pants and little else. His breathing is ragged. Chaotic, for a man who thrives on structure.

“Four Ghosts were powerless to bring you back,” He says, trying to abate the anger, but it bleeds into his voice regardless. Stoicism fails him. “For hours, Miyu. I held you for hours, not knowing-” His voice catches. He swallows. Dials it back, tries to get himself under control. “I thought I had lost you for good.”

She frowns. Her fingers sneak out from under his, and she lays them on his cheek, along the ribbons of pale tattoos. He tips his head up into it and kisses her palm like a man starved for touch.

“Ikora did not understand. Thought it was some kind of resistance, like your Ghost refused to help.” His hands clench into fists, a sharp contrast to her delicate fingertips dancing along his temples. “She killed you, repetitively. She almost killed you for good.”

“Zavala-” She finds herself pressed onto her back, not unkindly, drowning once more in depths of blue.

“I have held my composure for centuries,” He murmurs. “Through failures and devastation that should make what happened today pale to compare, and yet I,” He takes a breath, trying to abate his rambling. “I do not think I could handle losing you. What I mean to say is-”

Two gentle, delicate, trembling hands reach up to his shoulders and guide him down to lay half on top of her, his head on her breast, ear pressed to the heating of her heart. Warm. Alive. Here.

He closes his eyes, reaching for her hand. “I love you,” He whispers against her skin, across pale aura the color of stars and snow.

It isn't that she doesn't love him. Miyu thinks perhaps the fact that he's fallen in love with her despite how fragile, how broken she is, makes it that much more. And yet, when she tries to tell him that she loves him back, she chokes.

The Speaker's words echo in her mind, chill her to the bone.  _“You will hurt those who care for you, very much.”_

“I know,” She whispers into the dark, tears leaking from her eyes. Her hand squeezes his like it’s her anchor, a lifeline despite the tingly-burn of pain the movement takes. “I know.”

He surges up to kiss her, and it's both terribly sad and unbelievably sweet. She wonders if, deep down, he really does know.

The path back to her Light, back to herself - to all that she is and all that she is meant to be - is a path that she must walk alone.

-/

Miyu carefully slides out of the bed and dresses in a shirt that’s far too large for her petite frame. Tamashii immediately scans her, zipping around her carefully as if there is something he can do if vertigo claims her and she tumbles to the floor. It does not, though. She feels significantly better. Not amazing, not like she’s normally felt lately, but her head is clear and her balance holds.

A look back at the bed tells her that her partner has not moved, a blanket draped over his bottom half, his usual half-frown, mostly stoic visage passive in sleep. She resists the urge to smooth her fingers over his brow; She can see the tension that lingers. It would only wake him up, and right now, she needs a moment alone with her other partner, the one to whom she’s inexplicably bound.

They slip out to the balcony of the Commander’s spacious abode, a small space of a modestly furnished living room. “We’re alone,” Tamashii tells her, knowing she’s going to ask. He flutters close, in front of her face. “What happened yesterday? Why did that happen yesterday?”

She sighs. “I had another vision.”

The back half of his cones spin, the golden trim catching the light of the rising sun. “A vision,” He processes. “Thanatanotics?”

  
“Maybe?” She shakes her head. “That’s never really been my thing,” She tells him, though they both know. “I talked with… well, he said he both was and wasn’t the Speaker, so…” She dips her head sheepishly, snow-white eyes daring to peek at Tamashii’s cyan optic.

Tamashii bobs midair and waits.

“He asked me about what makes me a Guardian. And…” She sighs. “He mentioned that the Light would guide me, when I was ready to stop being afraid.”

“Mmhmm,” The little being in front of her says. “And this took hours?”

“I don’t know how it works, Tamashii!” She whispers, so she doesn’t yell, “I didn’t ask for the vision!”

The Ghost recoils. “I’m sorry,” He apologizes. “I just - I couldn’t feel you, for a while there. Zavala wasn’t the only one who thought you were gone. I failed you. We tried-” Miyu plucks him from the air and holds him against her heart.

“No,” She admonishes. “You have never failed me, and you never will.” Her fingertips are soft and tender as she strokes his upper-most fin. “You brought me back the second you were able. I know you did.”

He bob in her hold, a resounding yes, and trembles. “I don’t know which was worse,” He whispers in his synthetic overtones, “At least when the Cabal attacked, I knew there was nothing I could have done, but this was… if I was stronger, maybe I could have-”

“No,” She says, drawing him back so that they can look at each other. “If the Traveler wished to speak to me, how could you have intervened?”

“The Traveler needed you dead?”

“Maybe,” Miyu says, with a tip of her head. “I don’t know. The Speaker said this would not happen again.”

Tamashii blinks his optic at her. “So next time, it’s for good?”

“There won’t be a next time,” Miyu replies. “I have to figure this out.”

“Did he give you something that would help you with that?” Tamashii sounds skeptical. Not that he wasn’t fond of the Speaker, because they both had been, but she can tell he’s at his limit.

She shakes her head. “He helped me realize something, though.”

“Okay…”

“I can’t do this here.”

“But-”

“Listen,” Miyu breathes. “Please.”

“Go ahead.”

“Ikora and Zavala, they want to help. Zavala’s efforts have really made things easier for me.” She taps her index finger against her cheek, and looks out at the City and the looming underbelly of the Traveler. “But I’m not making things any easier for them. The Traveler needs them, too. Working together.”

“That isn’t our problem.”

“Yes and no.” She runs her fingers through sleep-wrecked hair. “Look. Everyone has an idea of what’s best for me. And what happened yesterday is only going to make everyone’s opinions stronger. I’m sure you heard Zavala. He blames Ikora.”

“I do, too. She shouldn’t have provoked you.”

“We’re all fighting battles others don’t know about,” Miyu recalls, sagely. “We’re all human. We make mistakes.”

Tamashi flutters a bit, cones spinning as he processes, takes in the whole of her face. “What are you saying, then?”

“Zavala won’t want me dealing with Ikora.”

“No,” Tamashii agrees, “He won’t. I'm really not sure how I feel about you dealing with her, either. So what do you want to do?”

“I have to leave the Tower.”

Tamashii rocks back and forth. “Even if you told them you had a vision, Miyu-”

“I have to,” Miyu resolves. “It’s the only way.”

“Okay,” He considers, “Let’s say I agree with you. How will you do it?”

Miyu shrugs. “I’ll figure it out. If nothing else, there’s still Osiris.”

“The-there is?”

She nods. “Do you trust me?”

“As much as I think I’m going to need a therapist when this is all over-” She quirks a demure brow at him, the sunlight accentuating the hints of blue and purple and silver in her mostly pewter-black hair, “Of course I trust you, Guardian.”

Miyu smiles. “Glad to hear it.”


	21. Lies and the Truth

Ikora's study smells like lavender. To the outsider, it only exaggerates her usual aura of reserved calm. She looks steady, peaceful. To Miyu, it is only further indication that she feels unsettled.

It has been four days since the incident.

Three days since she'd been back to the Tower. Three days since Ikora and Zavala had their official, loud enough for the Jovians to hear them (Shaxx's words, not hers) argument on leadership and grief and plenty of other things that most of the Tower heard. Two days since Ikora had sent her a message: half angry, half hurt but all self-loathing with an undercurrent of remorse.

The door is open so she steps through, centuries of quick footwork making her steps virtually silent. Ikora's eyes are focused on a text propped in front of her, frowning as she studies it.

Miyu takes a breath, wills her hands to be still and speaks. “Do you have a moment?”

The Warlock Vanguard looks up immediately and backs away from her task. “Of course,” She says, almost tripping over her words. “Please, take a seat.” She gestures to a bench, covered with a strangely detailed tapestry. Miyu complies. “How are you feeling?”

Her bright eyes link with Ikora's golden ones. She thinks of the Speaker, and of visions and of what is best and right and what she should say.

“If I told you I'm fine, would you believe me?”

Ikora shakes her head, just a fraction. “I…” Her eyes harden with her lack of surety, “I don't know.”

Miyu nods. Lays a pale, trembling hand on Ikora's arm and pretends not to notice Ikora examining her fingers. They twitch, a result of still-frazzled nerves, though they are mostly the color of her skin and not a pinkish brown-black like they had been. “I’m not angry with you,” She finally says. The gesture is a stretch, but she pushes through. “So please don't be angry with yourself, as it pertains to me.”

“You almost-”

“Died. Permanently. I've been told.” Miyu removes her hand from Ikora's forearm to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear. Zavala’s been regarding her like she’s made of glass. She doesn’t need it from Ikora, too. “I'm sorry for worrying you.”

“You,” She frowns and Miyu knows worry isn’t quite the word her Vanguard would call it. The Speaker's words flash in her mind. Overwhelmed might be the correct word, but it would certainly entertain Ikora's wrath. “I-”

It's a rarity that the Warlock before her cannot find the words. It helps her feel confident. She might make it through this conversation after all. “I know we have not seen eye to eye lately, Ikora, but there is something I would like to ask, if you're still willing.”

-/

“You were the one who told me you didn’t want to go to Mercury,” Zavala tries his best not to growl, “You told me you would be furious with me if I attempted convince you to see Osiris.” He pauses. It does nothing to temper his frustration. “And yet, Ikora has just submitted a request to allow you to leave that states that you asked to go.”

“I asked her to speak with you,” Miyu replies mildly. Zavala’s eyebrows rise, as if he cannot believe she’s just said that. The Warlock sighs. She had expected as much, after all. “Look, I know you two are fighting but-”

“Our disagreements on other affairs aside,” He begins, voice rising like a wave making landfall. It takes everything in her not to shrink back at the bite in his tone. “She nearly killed you! Her lack of judgement almost cost you your-”

“Don’t you think she knows that?” Miyu holds out both hands. She really, really doesn’t want to fight. He just needs to let her go. “Zavala, listen to me.”

“Regardless, I don’t think this is a good idea,” He says, frowning deeply. “I don’t think you should leave the Tower until we can be sure that this won’t happen again.”

Miyu shakes her head. “And if we can’t?” She questions, her voice flat. It's telling of her own discontent. “Tamashii brought me back a lot when I fought with Ikora. It wasn’t like it was just one resurrection!”

“Still. I’m worried for you.” He gestures to her and she knows she should have kept her hands behind her back. Not that it would have helped, she’s spent a great deal of time with him since things had transpired in midtown. “Your hands are still shaking. You told me they were still painful yesterday. How are they now?”

“Getting better,” She answers. “But don’t change the subject. I need you to let me see Osiris.”

His eyes narrow, examining her. She forces herself not to fidget. “What changed your mind?”

Miyu breathes deep. Forces herself to look him in the eye. “You.”

Azure eyes blink at her in surprise, his frustration and anger momentarily set aside as he studies her. He breathes out an incredulous, “What?”

“You’re the one who said that if anything could help, it was worth looking into. Even if you are at odds with Ikora, and even if you don’t like Osiris.”

“If you step into the Infinite Forest, I won’t be able to come for you, if something happens. I won’t know-”

Miyu closes her eyes. She’d thought about that, but it didn’t matter where she was. There was always some danger associated with living, immortal or not. She takes a breath. “I’m not going to die. Not permanently.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No,” She concedes, “But I have a good Ghost, and I’m not going to launch myself headfirst into danger.” She rounds his desk, eyeing the newly repaired cracks that have been filled with resin. Shaxx had provided her with his account of things - as well as an apology for meddling. He hadn’t believed it possible for the two of them to develop feelings for each other - more specifically for Zavala to return her budding feelings - but the unrestrained outburst was an undeniable tell.

“I know,” He says finally. He leans back in his desk chair, and she takes it as permission to drop into his lap. His arms draw up around her. “I just worry. I do not want...” She presses her lips to his cheek, but he turns after a moment and captures her lips with his own. “If you really must go, I’ll allow it. But I’m not thrilled.”

“Thank you,” She breathes, tense shoulders relaxing. “And, I know.”

“I only ask one thing.”

“Okay?” She tips her head to the side, waiting.

He remembers her telling him once that she was never selected to be one of Ikora’s Hidden because she has always been an abysmal liar. Her fists are clenched too tight, and her eyes are darting from side to side. Maybe Ikora believed her but...

Zavala rears back far enough to pin her with serious, knowing, sad eyes. Her stomach drops, but she can't look away.

Of course he knows.

“Tell me the truth, Miyu. Where do you really plan to go?”

-/

He dozes lightly beside her, his lips twitching, the muscles of his legs flexing as if mimicking a slow rendition of his gait. She slides her palm down his arm when he begins jerking slightly every three to four breaths, whatever lucid dream he’s experiencing transcending into something more like a nightmare.

When his eyes snap open, they’re brighter than usual. He looks at her sharply, as if he hasn’t spent the last hour or so unconscious. She presses in closer to him, and he kisses her with a fervor she’s not anticipating. It’s like she blinks and they’ve discarded their sleepwear, resting skin to skin from hip to shoulder. She’s pliant, laying back against the bed, looking up at him with unguarded, semi-glazed eyes, the very picture of everything he both wants and needs.

Zavala licks her lips and kisses her once again but rolls over beside her without pushing for anything more. She blinks up at the ceiling, in the dark, lashes beating almost silently against her cheeks. Tilts her head toward him. “You okay?”

There is no answer. She takes it as a no. He makes no effort to explain.

It could be so many things. She is not foolish enough to think he's over the fact that she tried to lie to him. Aside from that, there have been numerous harrowing reports from the Reef. The Awoken are demanding his support. They've sent emissaries to discuss terms. The Festival of the Lost is nearly upon them and they've already lost so much that reflecting upon it for the duration is almost more than he can bear.

Her fingers slip down his face in a too-gentle motion, contrasting with the quick flip of her body up and over to sit on top his abdomen. He opens his eyes after several dips of her fingers down to his shoulder and back. She smiles sadly at him, the same way he’s looking at her. “When I tell you,” She whispers, unable to find the strength to say it at full volume in the quiet of the room, “When I tell you that I love you, I want to say it with all of me. I know that’s unfair, I shouldn't have lied to you, and I know I’m being selfish, Zavala, but please-”

Miyu lowers her lips to his, not trusting the words to say everything she means. When they make love, neither of them speak.

Afterward, she stares up at the ceiling, catching her breath. “Part of me wishes I could go with you,” He says, quietly. She does not turn to him, afraid that he'll hold back based on some unconscious shift in her gaze. “Ikora asked me if we truly needed a Vanguard, when we-” He sighs, “During our argument. ‘The Guardians practically police themselves,’ she'd said.” Soft fingertips follow the musculature of his forearm to find the hand between them. She links his digits with hers. “She's not entirely wrong.”

Miyu stares upward still. “Are you saying you'd rather resign?” She asks, softly.

He looks over at her, his eyes sending extra light flickering down the side of her face. “I thought you would argue with me on it. At least disagree.”

She half-smiles. Zavala sees the twitch in the muscles in the side of her face. “You fight enough with yourself, I think. Plus, you've done this for a long time. No one would fault you - either of you - for wanting to step down. No one is exactly begging for your job.”

“It is not all it's cracked up to be. I do not know how much more I can take.” He squeezes her hand harder. “Are my decisions correct? Will the consequences of my actions or inactions doom those who cannot protect themselves? Am I-”

“‘He has always had such unshakable faith,’” Miyu interrupts him. She sits up so she may look upon his face, still naked and luminous. Twin quicksilver eyes seem to see right through him, shaking him to the core.

“What did you just say?”

The Warlock does not answer, posing a question of her own. _“Anata.” Dearest._  “Who is the one who speaks for the Traveler?”

“No one.”

She smiles gently, shaking her head. His brows furrow in confusion. “Everyone.”

He persists. “There is no Speaker, not since-”

“We are all the Traveler's voices.”

He has spent enough time around Warlocks to know when one is seeing something he does not. “Miyu, where is this coming from?”

Silence worms between them for a few moments. “I can't tell you everything,” She finally gushes, “But I promise you that your efforts are realized, and the burden of your duty does not go unseen.”

“How?” It is a brittle word, cracked under the weight of stress and and grief. Her heart burns for this man. She cannot allow him to think so little of himself, of his duties, or his sacrifices.

She does not take the sheet with her, when she rises.

“Get up. We're going for a walk.”


	22. The Tower North

There is so much she wants to say. She does not want to keep secrets, does not want to tell the half-truths of her brethren. She is not a Warlock of mystery and intrigue, has never been, and never aspires to be. She is a veteran of combat, a blade-wielding Light-bearer who refuses to be culled.

And yet, she knows in her heart that she cannot give the man beside her every detail, cannot force-feed him what she knows in her heart to be true. To do so would reduce the overall gravity of the situation. Though it might solve things short term, she would ultimately do more harm than good.

Still Zavala follows her blindly out of his flat, in the middle of the night. She's dressed herself in armor - it worries him, she can see it in his face - but has otherwise made no sound.

“No, Miyu,” He says, when they arrive at their destination. “It's off limits. Only salvage teams authorized by-”

“Not for you, Commander,” She reminds him.

Everything about him tenses. His shoulders draw up, his posture becomes rigid. It's very clear he does not know what to say, how to proceed.

Miyu stops a few meters shy of the barricade. The officers on duty eye her warily, but do not intervene with Zavala hot on her heels. “Sometimes, we have to confront our grief,” She says, softly. “And know-”

He does not want to hear it, choosing to stick to facts. “Those levels are unsafe.”

“Have you been over there, since we've returned? Since-”

His face changes. “Of course I have,” The response comes, with a barely concealed growl. She isn't sure on what grounds he's holding back: for her sake, or to remain collected in front of the two FOTC guards. “There is nothing to be gained-”

Miyu sighs, looks at the guards and nods over to the control terminal outside of hearing distance. “Would you please give us a moment,” She requests of them, with a pleasant note to her voice. They comply easily to give the two Guardians space, more than likely to escape the Commander's impending wrath.

When they're alone and Miyu can still feel his gaze burning into her back, she whirls around to face him. “I would like us to go to the Tower North. I would not think to take you to the remains of the Hall of Guardians, but if you would like me to accompany you there I would.”

He blinks at her, repeating, “The Tower No-”

She nods, when his jaw goes slack. Smiles sadly when his shoulders round down. “I do not wish to push you beyond your limits, Zavala. If you truly don't want to go, we can go home. I will not be angry with you.”

Silence follows for a long couple of moments. His jaw ticks as he mulls it over. He's not seeing her, Miyu knows. His eyes are half-glazed, far away.

Miyu's relationship with the Speaker was similar to that which the man had with most Warlocks. They seemed to understand what he said, despite how indirectly he might have said it. His body language and the silent cues he gave off were easy to discern as well.

Like many of her kind who have been around a while, she'd been taken under his wing during Osiris's decline, when Ikora had been scrambling to make up for the heretic's mistakes and assume a role she would learn as she went. The Speaker understood how to guide others, to reassure them. How to listen more than speak, which was ultimately the reason why his words were so powerful.

Looking at the man in front of her, lost in his thoughts, it became painfully clear: he required guidance, too. Guidance the Speaker was no longer able to give; Solace in knowing that he was making the best decisions he could.

Distantly, she wondered if the same went for Ikora, but there was no chance the other Warlock would listen, Miyu thought. She wasn't nearly as much like her predecessor as Miyu had come to believe lately, but she had for more self-reflection and grieving to do before she would take into consideration someone close to her's opinion, much less that of a well-meaning subordinate.

She places a hand on the side of his face when things have gone on too long. His eyes clear and focus on her. “I lost you for a second there,” She murmurs, barely a whisper. “It's okay. We don't have to go-”

“Just this once,” He replies, gravely. As if the concession is still too much. It is not lost to her that he gives more than he can take, always. “I cannot allow either of us to get swept up in the past, no matter how-”

“I promise you,” She levels with him, lunar eyes bright and clear, “My intent in asking you to come here with me is to make peace and move forward. We have to be better. We agreed.”

Zavala does not say anything further, but he takes her hand and nods his assent for them to proceed.

-/

The lights flicker overhead. Neither of them walks particularly fast. It is meant to be a moment of reflection, not a rush to get to a particular destination or outcome. “May I be honest with you,” Miyu asks him, when the long corridor becomes buffeted by debris, ravaged by the aerial assault that did not happen all that long ago.

The deckplate protests beneath them but holds firm. Zavala exhales in relief before speaking. “I wish you would.”

She releases his hand as they step into the shattered remains of the old North Tower, flitting around large sections of fallen concrete with some sort of purpose that Zavala knows not. He watches her carefully as she turns to eye the Traveler through the gaping maw created by the Cabal’s armada. She stands roughly where the Speaker’s observatory would have been.

“Who is the one who speaks for the Traveler?”

He closes his eyes. “Miyu,” He breathes, trying to temper his ire. “We’ve had this discussion already. What is all this about?”

“What did I tell you, then,” She queries in response.

The actual area in which the Speaker worked is a husk, ashen and ruined, but yet some of the ivy still grows down destroyed shelves. The ethereal glow of the Traveler is the only light they have, but it is more than enough in combination with their own latent abilities as Awoken.

“You said that we are all the Traveler’s voices,” He replies. “It’s the speculation many, including myself, make.”

“It’s not a speculation at all,” The Warlock murmurs,” Standing in the remains of the large doorway. The steps up to his workspace don’t look very safe, so she takes to gliding up to the top of them. Her feet touch down gently, and she is pleased to find the floor beneath her is solid.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I was told it first hand.” She looks around. The table itself that the Speaker worked from is all but melted into the stone tile. Still, something drives her to inspect it further. Something about a massive pile of ruined books, sandstone, and tapestry distracts her from whatever Zavala’s strangled reply may be.

She begins disturbing things, shifting them aside, disrupting what once was but never again will be.

That really bothers him. Zavala had no intention of stepping foot on these grounds. It was too much. He could see what had been, transposed over the utter destruction. He is not over it. Like the Great Disaster, he knows he may never be.

But, when she takes to her knees, as if the wind itself has been knocked out of her, he leaps over the steps himself.

“Are you alright?”

Miyu nods, but does not stop her careful, frantic push of large pieces of stone and tattered tomes. “There is a Ghost shell under this,” She says firmly.

Tamashii appears over her shoulder, casting a pale beam of light to assist her, though his own battered shell twitches in unease.

“The Speaker’s?” Zavala asks in a devastating whisper. He does not think he could handle such a thing, even if he knows both he and his Ghost are dead.

“No,” Miyu replies. “A new one. It’s red and white, with an intricate design that reminds me of… something I can’t quite recall,” She trails off.

Zavala reaches for her hands. “Where is this coming from?”

“Yu-mi....”

“I saw it,” She says softly. “He - it was in his hands when I spoke to him.” She rips her fingers from his grip, continuing her search. “This isn’t why I wanted to come here,” She says, quietly. “But still, I-” She sighs. “Tamashii, do you feel that?”

The Ghost bobs in the affirmative, steadily casting his optic in a beam on the ground below.

“Miyu, what is happening?” He cannot help it. His voice carries in a yell. This makes no sense. “Spoke to whom? The Speaker? You know he’s-”

“Five days ago.” She unsettles a large chunk of rebar and moves aside a large volume beneath it. A plume of dust rises up into the sky. Exhaling, she smiles. “Look.”.

Zavala leans forward and sees a rounded Ghost shell, too new and unblemished for all the jagged items around it. Not even dust covers it, but that in itself would be an impossibility.

“Five days ago,” She begins, delicate hands scooping the shell up with reverence, “When no one was able to bring me back,” Pale eyes meet his own. He’s completely unsettled, even without the reminder. “I had another vision. The Speaker-” She breaks off, but chooses to stay the course. Better to keep it simple than try to explain every detail. “He had this shell in his hands. I don’t know why it’s here, but I think it was for me to find.”

“Miyu-”

“His mask was broken. Cracked, on the left side.” Her eyes are imploring as they look up to him. “Please believe me.”

“What did he say?”

“We talked about many things,” Miyu tells him, gently. She tips her head to Tamashii, who pushes aside his own shell without preamble. The Light is blinding as he moves from one shell to the other. He spins silently, cones twitching as the pieces of his old shell clatter to the dusty floor. “About what it means to be a Guardian. About how to move forward. About you-”

“Me?” His head jerks up, in surprise. She sees the hope etched into his features. 

“You and Ikora-”

Zavala frowns. “I don’t understand.”

“-And  _grief_.”

She rises easily, patting her robes to release the dust and debris that lingers. “We all have to find our own way, Zavala. For ourselves. For me, that means leaving the Tower and trying to figure out who I am. Not who I was, not who I think I want to be.” She offers him a hand to pull him up as well.

He takes it. “And for Ikora and myself?”

“I can’t tell you what that is. If you want my opinion, I’ll give it to you. Just know,” She smiles wanly at him, then looks out at the Traveler. Around them, the ruins of what was are once again peaceful. “Know that what you’ve done, the choices you’ve made, the burdens you bear… none of it goes unnoticed. And I don’t mean by me.”

“But the Speaker-”

“He said he both was, and was not.” She lifts an eyebrow at him, casting her eyes to the side to regard him while facing the great looming machine above. Tamashii floats by them and drifts up, similarly focused on the Traveler. “Do you understand?”


	23. Abide the Return

He does not want to allow her to leave, the thinks. He’s been thinking on it for at least an hour now. She’s curled into his side, dark hair sprawled across the bed sheets, her breaths heavy enough to sound like a quiet snore. By the window, still looking up at the Traveler, her Ghost hangs silently in the air. His own Ghost has long since phased away, though he feels her like a warm bloom in his chest.

A pale hand slides up the left side of his chest, over his heart. She hums and presses her face into the right side of his chest, nuzzling gently.

“You should sleep,” She tells him in a hazy mumble. “You said you have an early meeting with the Queen's…” She trails off and Zavala smiles down at her sleepy visage.

“It's fine.”

“Even so,” She yawns, forcing her tired eyes open. “Talk to me about it?”

“It is too late for talking,” Zavala chides, running a hand through her hair. “Rest,  _Anata_.”

“Not fair, usin’ that 'gainst me,” She slurs, stirring, trying to stay awake. It is fruitless and she is easily sent back to sleep by his ministrations.

“She cares,” The voice of her Ghost calls, when his Guardian's breathing evens out and she begins to drool on his chest. “You are very important to her.”

“I know,” Zavala replies, meeting the teal optic of the smaller being. “As she is to me.”

Red and white rounded fins shift and spin silently. It's strange to look at him with his new shell, and even stranger still to find that it seems like he's had it far longer than a couple hours. “I never doubted that, from the moment you found her in the training hall.”

Zavala looks beyond Tamashii, out the window. From his angle, mostly laying down on the bed, he cannot see the Traveler. Only the glow of its underbelly and the winking lights of nearby buildings.

“You'll keep her safe,” The Commander finally says. “And make sure she comes back in one piece?”

The Ghost drifts over to him and looks down at his Guardian with a pose of devotion and reverence. “You have my word,” Tamashii says, evenly. “I'll see her home safely.”

Zavala nods, not quite speaking, though his eyes say enough for the Ghost to interpret.

“Please try to sleep, Commander,” He says, kindly. “We aren't leaving tomorrow. She hasn't even decided where we're going to go.”

“In a while,” The Awoken replies dismissively. If it were not this, there are countless other things to contemplate through the night. “Do not fret for my sake.”

Tamashii bobs in the impression of a nod and phases away. Zavala does not sleep.

-/

Miyu stands back some ways in the courtyard. She had been discussing linguistics with Rahool, but the woman above them - one of the Queen's Paladins - commands everyone's attention.

“Guardians of the Tower,” She bellows, in a raspy alto.

Tamashii appears at her side as the woman continues, openly presenting her request for aid. “We never did decide where to go,” He whispers, hovering at her ear. “And, she isn't wrong. Their numbers were heavily reduced by Oryx.”

Miyu waves a hand. She, like several others, are looking around for the Commander. He isn't at his post. She was aware they had been debating the issue of allowing the Guardians to fight for the Dreaming City. Personally, she had little interest in fighting the Queen's battles or visiting the Awoken homeland no matter how many times she'd looked beyond Saturn and felt the pull. That aside, the Awoken were asking for help.

So when Zavala's voice rings out across the Tower: “The Vanguard stands with the Reef,” he says, in that earnest, honor-bound tone of his, she knows it is worth her consideration. No matter who leads them, no matter where they come from or where they are both born and born again, they are all undeniably bound so long as they stand against the Darkness.

The Reefborn looks surprised. Miyu covers her smile with the wide sleeve of her robe, trembling in a silent laugh. So many underestimate him, she thinks to herself. When she pulls her hand away and looks up, she realizes that Kamala Rior - somehow, she knows the woman's name - is staring at her with bright, serious eyes. Miyu blinks, and the woman is gone, as if she’s a Hunter, disappearing without a trace.

Miyu frowns and watches the spot the woman - Kamala - had just vacated. “Maybe,” She says, after a few moments.

Tamashii blinks his optic at her, surprised. “It was just a suggestion. I thought you’d rather go to Titan. You seemed rather set on it.”

“I would, but…” She shrugs. “I need to think it over. There are still a few things I need before we can go anywhere, anyway.” She nods politely to Rahool who has long since moved on to another Guardian looking for him to decrypt an engram and takes to the corridor that bridges the main drag with the Bazaar.

They're descending the steps to the small meeting area that serves as a midway point between the two areas of the Tower when a hand is placed on Miyu's shoulder.

“A word, Cousin.”

“Paladin Rior!” Tamashii exclaims, surprised. “Can we help you?”

“I require your Guardian’s attention, Ghost. Might you be able to spare her a moment?”

He looks to Miyu first. “You okay with that?”

“It’s fine,” Miyu says, not really having to think on it. Something in her trusts this woman. Something she does not need to think about to know. It’s both unsettling and comforting all at the same time.

Tamashii disappears into motes of Light immediately thereafter. “He is a trustworthy companion,” The Queen’s Paladin says, in her gravelly tone. She gestures for them to keep walking with a sweep of her arm, so they do. “A fitting partner.”

“I agree,” The Warlock answers. “He is good to me.”

“Are you good to him?”

“I do my best,” She replies honestly.

“Then so you are,” Rior says, looking ahead. “You were once one of ours,” She says. “And yet your blood does not sing to join our fight. You have doubts.”

“How do you know that,” Miyu asks. Her tone is far more defensive than she’d like.

“I am not the only one who sees things that are not made plain.” Blazing yellow eyes - they remind her of a big cat, a watchful predator - look her direction. “That is something all Awoken share, whether you’ve been brought back from a shipwreck on coastal shores, or one of the many who chose to stay when Queen Mara allowed those who wished to do so to go.”

“Alright...”

The Paladin steps around Miyu. Like a Corsair, she’s dressed in boots and pants fitting for a hunter, however the lilac tone of it all and the white shawl over it denotes her higher ranking in the Queen’s armada.

“Come,” The Reefborn beckons, altering their course to enter one of the whitestone doors with the Vanguard's insignia on it in flecked gold. “Allow me to tell you what is happening in our sacred city.”

-/

“I mean no offense,” Zavala intones to one of the Corsairs, when they step into the doorway to his office. She is a tall, lithe woman with a reedy voice. “However, I do not require gifts-”

“It is not meant for you.” Kamela looks between the Commander and the Corsair, having been not far behind. “Thank you for bringing it so quickly.”

The Queen's servant nods, standing at attention. There is a wide case on the workable set off to one side of the spacious room. “T’was nothing, ma'am.”

“Leave us,” She dismisses the other woman, her tone not unkind, stepping into the room as the Corsair takes her leave.

When they are alone, the Paladin waits for Zavala to offer her a seat, which he does. Always so polite, she thinks, sitting across from him in a comfortable chair. Sedia had always said there was little difference between now and then.

“You have endorsed our fight,” She begins, lightly enough. “For that, my people and I thank you.”

“I do not require a bribe to provide my aid,” He replies.

“As has been said, it is not a gift for you.”

Zavala frowns.

“Don't look at me like that, Cousin. Everything will be fine.” She dips her chin and fixes the stoic Titan with a nonplussed gaze. “Your chosen is a skilled with a blade, if I remember correctly.”

“I do not understand.”

“Yes, you do.” Rior's smile settles into something like a smirk. She reclines in the chair, crossing one leg over the other. “You know exactly of whom I speak.”

“That is… personal,” He bites out.

She raises her eyebrows and looks down as she blinks, conceding the point. “Forgive me for overstepping, Commander. I simply realized that a gift to you would hold no weight and that something for one you cherish might be more… appreciated.”

-/

The first time she holds it in her hands, she sees something like she would in a vision or a dream. Though it lasts only a second, the picture of it in her mind is startlingly clear, unlike how it had been before. Daybreak, it feels like. Like the sun rising after a long night, the sky glowing gold to herald the dawn.

She sees a sword. Not this one, with its intricately wrapped hilt, and dangerously curved blade.

It is a sword of Light. And it is hers, and hers alone.

Kamala Rior lingers in the doorway, watching the Warlock evaluate her new weapon. “Abide the Return,” She says, with a serious nod. Miyu tips her head in the Paladin’s direction as Zavala shifts his gaze. “The name of the sword,” The woman explains, with that same brazen smile. “May it help to reforge your Light, however you will it to be.”

Miyu bows: a sweeping, deep motion. She balances the blade carefully in both hands before her. “Thank you,” She says quietly, but not without gravity behind it. Unlike earlier, she does not question the depth of the Paladin’s knowledge.

The Queen’s diplomat meets the Commander’s eyes. They are bright and serious, but the gratitude therein is not to be missed. “Remember what I said,” She tells him, and then she is gone.


	24. Light's Blessings

Tess watches him carefully as he speaks, attempting to glean what his intentions are. “I'm…” She does her best to withhold her surprise at his rather detailed request. Clearly, it is not for Ikora as some sort of peace offering, as she'd originally thought. “Eververse does not quite have what you seek. And in that time frame, I'm not sure I could get it done, regardless. I am only a one woman operation, since Fenchurch is,” Her blue eyes meet his. He does not look terribly impressed. “Well,” She waves away the awkwardness she feels. “You know.”

He still lingers, even after being shut down. That's unusual, she thinks. “Have you been in contact with Eva recently?”

Tess narrows her eyes. “She still is not interested in returning, Commander, though she does appreciate it when you write.”

That isn't his question, however, Tess realizes, the longer he lingers. She is not stupid. She knows a thing or two about men and their feelings, and - make no mistake - he may be the Vanguard Commander, but beneath it all, he too is just a man.

And while Tess would love to know literally all of the details - it would certainly serve to prove her status over her competitors and friends alike - she knows this is not the time. She runs a hand through her short blonde hair, ensuring not a strand has strayed. Blows out a quiet huff of air.

“She is still not working like she used to,” Tess says it lightly, but she does not miss the shadow cast across the man's face. “Higher callings and all that. Though, I am sure she will give me pointers as far as the design. I'll try to talk to her this evening.”

“You have my thanks,” Zavala nods, his eyes flashing warm and grateful. Tess swallows hard. It's easy to forget how handsome he is, beneath all those stuffy layers of servitude. “Please, let me know if there is anything I can-”

“I will keep you apprised of any issues, but, I am sure I can find the time to get it to you by your deadline.”

“You just said-”

“I forgot I that the conflict I thought I had was... cancelled.” Zavala does not believe her, she can see it in his face. Tess thinks that's just as well. “Can't have you soliciting my competition,” She offers instead, like some great concession. It's a bluff. She's overly friendly with her clients, sure, but she does not do warm and fuzzy. They are the means, and Eververse is the end. She does what she must. Reputation requires it.

However, it seems her words relax him a touch. He leans forward, as if he's just remembered that business is not free. “The payment-”

Tess smiles then, a cheshire grin blooming wide as her eyebrows rise and fall. Now they're talking. “We can discuss that at a later time. Seeing your-”

“-for your discretion,” He interjects, eyes narrowing.

“I assure you I am nothing but discreet.” she seems almost offended he would think anything otherwise.

He hums. “Of course,” He says, steely in his delivery. “I look forward to seeing the fruits of your labor.”

“Of course,” She parrots. “Check back with me in a few days. I am certain I will not disappoint.”

Eager for a hint, Tess watches him from her post, out of the corner of her eye for the next three days. Whomever they are, his intended, she cannot tell. He does not treat anyone differently. It only makes her more important, she thinks, to be working on something so personal for someone of such high stature.

-/

She seeks Ikora, one final time. The Warlock Vanguard is busy, murmuring to herself about countless tasks requiring completion, sending missives and receiving them in return. Even so, Miyu stands in the Bazaar for a long while, waiting for the woman to spare her a moment.

“What is it,” Ikora finally asks, yellow gold eyes flashing in impatience. “I don't have time-”

“I'm going to the Dreaming City,” Miyu declares in her usual breezy tone.

“You are not,” Her Vanguard tsks. “You received permission to see Osiris. That took weeks to arrange. I will not revise-”

“I'm not asking.”

Ikora's brows furrow.

“I was never going to see Osiris,” She tells Ikora, bowing deeply as she speaks to express her remorse. “I apologize for lying to you. I will report in when I get back.”

Miyu takes a full step backwards before Ikora reaches out and wraps cold fingers around her wrist. “You are not,” She seethes in a quiet whisper. “Do you think you'll be allowed to go where you please? You were nearly lost after-”

Miyu's eyebrows rise. “After what?”

“You know,” Ikora says, reigning her irritation back in for a more pinched, less expressive visage. Miyu is not sure she's happy that Ikora feels some remorse for what happened between them, or upset that it take so much to drag such emotion out of her.

The pale-skinned Warlock looks Ikora up and down, before reaching nimble fingers down to the inside of her right wrist and prying her Vanguard's fingers away.

“After 'what happened,’” Miyu intones, not looking kind, but not quite teetering over the edge into anger, “I had thought you might be more receptive to listening to me. You did not allow me to become one of your Hidden because my face is too honest and betrays a lie,” She shifts her feet, standing as tall as her modest height will allow. “You were attempting to placate me because you wronged me, I think,” She hedges. “But-”

“Of course I was! I nearly killed you!” The second the words are past her lips, Ikora's fingers cover her mouth. Around them, the Bazaar carries on, the drone of activity all around buffering their conversation, keeping it private.

“I told you the truth. I'm not angry with you for that.” Miyu holds Ikora's gaze with intense, serious eyes. “I am angry because you still do not listen. You hear everything, or so you say, but you don't care about anything.”

“That isn't true.”

“Well you certainly don't care about me.”

The Warlock Vanguard rolls her eyes. She has more important things to deal with than this drama. “I knew you were lying, Miyu. You're right,” Ikora concedes. “You give it away easily.” She folds her hands behind her back and turns, looking out at the Traveler. “But once you're out of the Tower, I cannot prevent you from seeking your own path. Arguing would have been a waste of both our time.”

Miyu frowns, mulling over Ikora's words.

“But now, your guilt has driven you to tell me the truth. And as your Vanguard, I cannot allow you to go off on your own, knowing how fragile your Light is.”

Miyu shakes her head and clenches her fists, stands her ground. “You're misunderstanding. I'm not telling you because I feel guilty. I'm telling you because I've also told the Commander.” Ikora's lips purse. Miyu's eyes narrow, as if encouraging some kick-back. “And I thought you would rather hear it from me.”

The grudge is like a dark undercurrent to her tone. Ikora growls, “And Zavala has given you approval? I don't find that likely.”

“Begrudgingly,” Miyu tells her, “Yes.”

“Is that so,” Ikora frowns. “Well, who am I to deny you?”

“I would have gone if he told me no,” Miyu replies evenly. She turns on her heel, so they are back to back. “As I said. I’ll report in when I return. Light's blessings, Ikora.”

That makes her Vanguard turn. “Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?”

Miyu shrugs, tipping her head back to look over her shoulder with one snow-colored eye. Primly, she admits, “Honestly, I think you need it more than me.”

Ikora snorts, behind her hand, the barbed comment on her tongue.  _More than someone whose innate Light is their own personal curse?_

Ophiuchus appears beside her in a flash. “I heard you think that,” He says, in a flat tone that does not betray his true concern. She is even less receptive to it than usual, lately. “Which is why I'm not so sure she's wrong.”


	25. An End and A Beginning

They walk hand in hand to the hangar. There is no one around to see, not even the Shipwright at his hour. Though, if there was, based on how tight their fingers are locked together, Miyu doesn’t doubt for a second that he would not pull his hand away.

“You better keep a close eye on her,” Adelaide is saying over their heads to Tamashii. “I want frequent updates.”

“She sounds like you,” Miyu says, with a tilt of her head in Zavala’s direction. His lips pull up into a wan smile, but it doesn’t stay for long. Her lips purse, and her eyes spark in response. “Don’t look sad,  _Anata_. It isn’t forever.”

“I know,” He intones gravely. “The uncertainty is… I am not partial to it.”

“I’ll check in when I can,” She promises, nudging him gently with her hip. “Maybe even send you a geode or two to use as a paperweight for your office. I’ve read that the rocks there don’t match anything we have in our database.”

“Whatever you’d like,” He says indulgently. “So long as you return safe.”

“I promise.”

Zavala sighs. “It isn’t one you can make, Miyu. I have heard how the curse fares. I am not so naive to think that you won’t see any trouble.”

“Yes, well,” She places her left hand, the one not locked with his, over her heart. “I will make every effort to return safe and sound. Will you accept that promise instead?”

“Yes,” The Commander says, as they approach her ship’s dock. “I’ll hold you to it.”

The Warlock smiles. “Please do.” They stand, looking at the ship for a few moments before Tamashii drifts down in front of the Commander, dipping his rounded cones in the approximation of a nod.

“Tamashii,” Zavala says carefully, his eyes meeting the other being’s cyan optic. “Keep her safe.”

“Always.”

“He will,” Miyu chimes, looking to him as well. “Make one last check for me, please?”

The Ghost bobs again in the affirmative before zipping away. Adelaide takes the opportunity to zip into Miyu’s chest, persisting even after thunking against the hard chestplate that’s woven into her robes. “You better be careful, you hear me? If something happens, I’ll never forgive you!” Zavala huffs at his Ghost’s antics, half amused, half sad.

Delicate fingers come around the white Ghost shell to cradle Addy gently, bring her up to eye-level. “I will return,” She says in the most serious tone she can muster. Her eyes are hard and bright, like white fire. “Keep an eye on Zavala for me as well, please.”

“That’s my job. You know I will,” The Ghost replies easily.

“And-”

“I know,” She interrupts, grousing, “I’ll make sure he takes breaks and doesn’t forget to sleep every once in a while.”

“ _Arigatou_ , Addy.” She brings the little Light close to her, pressing her lips to the top of her shell. “I’ll see you soon.”

“You better!” The Ghost taps her cheek gently before spinning around to her Guardian and executing a quick transmat. “I’ll see you when you get back,” She chirps to her Guardian’s partner, shimmering away in motes of Light.

Then, they’re alone. Miyu ducks her head when Zavala takes a step in her direction, gingerly offering her the box his Ghost has swiftly managed to transmat into his hands. “For you,” He says, gently.

“Zavala,” She murmurs sadly, looking up into his eyes. They are so bright and warm, despite being such a cool blue. She bites her lip. “You shouldn’t-”

“I was going to commission a sword,” He tells her, with a bittersweet smile, “But it seems Paladin Rior beat me to it.” The box is flat black and not unlike a jewelry box, but larger. Her hands shake from something besides nerve damage for a change.

“Oh,” She says, vision swimming as she opens it. “Zavala, this is-” She looks up at him, blinking through tears. “It’s beautiful.”

“Do you like it?” He asks, his voice trembling just a touch and she sniffles, laughing. As if that were an actual option.

It is a stunning crimson red, intricate silken cording embellished with a traditional knot and tassels. An homage to the past, and a nod to the future.  _Their_  future. Her mouth splits wide into a brilliant smile. “It’s gorgeous,” She says, voice strained with the effort of staving off her tears. “I love it.”

“I am glad,” He grins back at her. “I was worried that it might be too forward, however-”

“Absolutely not,” She interjects, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him hard. There’s something urgent to it, as if she’ll never have enough time to express her thanks. He holds her close and presses his lips to hers slowly, savoring the moment and committing it to memory, forcing her to melt into it. It doesn’t surprise him when her tears are back with a vengeance. “I promised myself I wouldn’t cry,” She whispers, when he pulls back to look down at her, those glowing eyes of his fond. Swiping at her cheeks, she continues, voice watery, “I didn’t want to make you sad.”

“It’s alright,” He admits, his hands moving to her cheeks and thumbing the rest of the moisture away. “You’re beautiful even when you cry.” She huffs, trying not to cry harder at the compliment, and he smiles and hugs her again, plucking the case from her hands as he does so. “May I?”

She nods into his chest plate before stepping back. “Please.”

It’s a perfect fit, the tassels swaying gently with the draft in the Hangar, the intricate knot almost flower-like from afar. “It suits you,” He whispers, stepping back to admire it on her arm.

She leans forward to kiss him again, but this time it’s chaste. “I can’t thank you enough,” She says in a trembling whisper, embracing him tightly once more. “This is it, huh?” She says, taking a deep breath and sighing when she lets it go. She wipes away the last of her tears and sets her jaw with a nod.

“I believe in you,” He says, chest puffed proudly. “You can do this. You’re stronger than you think,  _Anata_. I cannot wait to see all that you learn.”

Miyu straightens her back and stands tall. “I will,” She agrees, before looking in the direction of the ship. Outside, the sun is beginning to rise, and though they could say their goodbyes for days, she knows she has to take that first step into the unknown. Her lower lip trembles. “Thank you,” She whispers against his ear, crossing the distance between them one last time. “For loving me enough to let me go.”

She does not see him cry, and it's likely he does not, but she feels him tremble all the same. When they draw back from each other, both have glossy eyes and somber smiles on their faces. “ _Itte kimasu_ ,” Miyu tips her head to him.

“ _Itterasshai_ , Miyu.  _Ai shitemasu yo_.”

Zavala lingers only as long as it takes for her ship to clear the Hangar. Adelaide appears beside him in a show of support, hovering just close enough to nudge his cheek every few steps. They make the walk back to command alone.

-/

The pastel beauty of the Dreaming City is not lost on her, despite the Taken miasma oozing from cracks and crevices, seeking to coalesce in the air. Miyu kills three Knights and a handful of Acolytes with her new blade before one of the Corsairs assists with a knife through a thrall's skull.

“Welcome, Cousin,” The woman says, and though Miyu cannot see her face, her seriousness bleeds into her tone. “Nice sword.”

“Thanks,” She calls back, breathing heavy. “Nice knifework.”

The two fall into step rather cordially, but it isn't completely unpleasant. “I'll take you to Petra,” The Corsair advises, giving her a glowing eyed once-over. Her scrutiny is apparent. “What're you here for, anyway? Weapons? Glory?”

Miyu smiles softly. It gives the Queen's servant pause. “A way forward, Cousin.”

The Corsair thumps Miyu on the back. “Well, shit,” She manages around a hearty chuckle. Her posture relaxes. Perhaps this one might not be so bad. “Aren't we all.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A smol, non-professional lesson in Japanese:
> 
> Itte kimasu: literally translated to English means “I’m leaving and I will come back.” it’s a common phrase used when someone leaves.
> 
> Itterasshai: the response to itte kimasu, meaning “Go and come back safely,” and wishes the person leaving safe travel and return.
> 
> Ai shitemasu yo: this is the supremely formal way of expressing love. So much so that it’s rarely used, and even more rare to be stated so formally (and even less likely so to be said by a man to a woman). In picking this phrase for Zavala to say this chapter, I did a lot of research, but ultimately decided that he was the brave sort who would be implicit in expressing his emotions, and he’d find it poetic to be so serious about it.
> 
> Other phrases I’ve used before include: Oyasumi nasai (good night), arigatou (thank you), anata (beloved/dearest/dear), yamete kudasi (stop it, please), and of course, hikari no Tama - Tamashi’s nickname - literally translates into ‘jewel of light.’  I think I’ve missed a couple in there, but if you have any questions, just let me know. I’m not fluent in Japanese, but I’ve watched a lot of anime (no that’s no the same thing, but it’s enough to spark my interest in this language). On the flip side, if you notice anything off, please tell me. 


	26. Wandering

There is much to learn from the Dreaming City. From from the great marbled white stonework arches and carvings through geodes the size of skyscrapers, Miyu feels as though she must go and see.

Petra offers her bounties. “You'll need these,” She intones, smartly. “The fragments you earn will be of use. Our armory may be open, but it is or no use to you without a means of payment.”

Miyu does not mention that she has all she needs, partly because she does not want to lose favor with the Queen's Wrath, but also because said Queen's Wrath has moved onto talking through a large convex screen that reminds her if some sort of scrying device.

Tamashii mentions in her head that he could interface with it, so it must be some kind of machine used to communicate. She takes his word for it.

They do every possible patrol they can get their hands on. The amount of Taken essence and bunches of Baryon Bough she bundles could easily keep the Techeuns in business for a hundred cycles (Tamashii revises it to maybe a month or two).

Everyday, she practices calling upon her inner flame. Bit by bit, only so much as she can take without harming herself. It isn't much. It's growing, Tamashii measures it carefully and diligently tells her so, but it isn't tangible. A handful of seconds barely constitutes progress in her eyes.

“It would be no different than if we were home,” She bellows at Tamashii, one afternoon when the Curse is at its high. She unclasps and throws her helmet off into the mists before smashing her fists against the ground. Her chest heaves as she cries, “It isn't enough!”

He chitters something parental and waits her out. When she looks up at him, red-rimmed eyes sparking in an abstract of snowy self-pity like a child who's lost their way, he pushes out his shell and looks down at her, tutting, “Are you done?”

Her lip quivers.

“Yeah,” He says, but makes no further move to comfort her. “You're done.”

It takes Miyu a few more moments to compose herself from her tantrum. “What do I do, Tamashii? I know I can do it, I can feel the Light inside me. This just isn't enough.”

He sighs like the answer is obvious, floating around a wayward thrall that runs down from the whitestone buildings above while Miyu puts a bullet in its skull without a change from her moody frown. “Then do more, Miyu. How long have we been patrolling now, exactly?”

She frowns. “Weeks.”

“Why don't you ask Petra if there's something a bit more exciting you can do than breaking up blights and bundling up sparkly trees?” He feints and rises back up in an unassuming, bored kind of gesture. It matches his tone. “I believe this week coming up is the one where they need someone to take back one of the Techeuns…”

Miyu's eyes flash something predatory. “Then that means that this week…”

Tamashii bobs anxiously, spinning in midair. “Okay, I know I told you more exciting, Hiveslayer, but you want to skip right to the most dangerous item in the time-loop. You're not ready, Yu-mi.”

“But-”

“Time-loop,” Her Ghost stresses. “You'll get a shot at it, maybe next time. They're no closer to figuring out the curse.” She dusts off her robes and watches him carefully. “If you must have something to do right this moment, let's check out the Blind Well. Plenty of Hive to kill, I hear.”

“And scorn,” Miyu adds drolly. “And Taken.”

-/

The Blind Well is exactly that. The miasma is blinding and toxic, despite any filter in her helm or armor on her skin. She despises it. But it makes her feel alive to slash through copious quantities of unending enemies.

The loot is beautiful, she can admit, as she sends it to her vault. The only exception is a beautiful metallic bangle of a bond, which she hands to a Warlock who has been watching her since she’s been bestowed her random reward.

She's a Stormcaller, a petite Exo who really likes intricate, delicate armor if her robes and gauntlets are any indication. Green optics flash lemon-lime in surprise, but she snatches the offered bond out of Miyu's palm with Hunter-like dexterity.

“You're serious?”

“I have my own,” She motions to the crimson cording around her upper arm.

The Exo stares, before grabbing her arm. “It's beautiful! I can pull up my Vault, I'll trade you!”

Miyu shakes her head, humming in the negative. Her eyebrow ticks in mild irritation. “It is absolutely not for trade,” She sees the shorter woman call her Ghost, “Or sale.” The other Warlock's face drops, crestfallen. Miyu sighs. “You must be pretty newly risen not to know that,” She says, though it's soft and lacking the anger the Exo is expecting.

“After the War. I was one of the first.”

“Makes sense,” Miyu comments, tucking her hands behind her back out of habit, and to avoid any possibility of someone noticing if they should tremble. “What's your name?”

“Lilith.”

“I'm Miyu.”

When they shake hands, the static from Lilith's latent Arc energy makes Miyu's hair frizz against her cheeks.

“Not that I'm exactly teacher material,” Miyu intones quietly, “But the number one rule of thumb with us Warlocks is that you don't ask them for their bonds. No matter how pretty they are. You'll understand someday, when the right one is bestowed upon you.”

The other woman - she seems so young, Miyu thinks, trying not to call her a girl - looks at her so brightly it feels like she's having her Ghost record notes. The corner of her lips pull into a smile. Knowing her kin, that may very well be the case. “May I ask where yours came from?”

Snowy eyes blink down at it and she smiles fondly before looking back at Lilith. “You're learning,” She says, gesturing for them to sit down nearby and wait for more Guardians to start again. They do so without preamble. “It was a gift.”

“From an admirer?”

“From someone I-” Miyu pauses, unsure of how to proceed. “From someone dear to me.”

Lilith tilts her head. “You love them,” She insists. “Why didn't you just say that?”

“I've probably lived more centuries than you've had lives,” Miyu offers, with a roll of her eyes at the incredulously wide optics and hanging jaw of her counterpart.

“You don’t seem any older than me.”

It’s (hopefully) a dramatization and not the Guardian’s first impression of her, Miyu desperately wants to believe. “It's complicated.”

“Feeling isn't complicated,” Lilith pushes back easily. “I would know. I distinctly recall being human… well,” She makes a waving gesture, “At some point… before... all this. I think. So if I can be a humanoid robot and feel just like any organic, so can anyone. That's what I think.”

Miyu chuckles. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It is.”

Lilith chatters on, unaware of how the words she's thrown out into the universe impact those around her. It must be nice, Miyu thinks, to find everything so new and holding so much promise. While the political situation at home is certainly not the most desirable, it is far safer - there is more order - than when she herself was first raised.

But, the younger Guardian has a point. Feeling shouldn’t be as complicated as she’s making it out to be. If she loves, then she should love. If she hurts, then she should allow herself to feel that, as well. The Exo is carrying on about something, Tamashii intervening on her behalf when she loses herself to her thoughts. Miyu cannot bring herself to pay it any mind.

She came to this place to grow back into her own skin.

To remember who she is, deep inside.

She hasn’t been doing that, she realizes. She’s just been going through the motions. That’s why it isn’t working. She has to put herself out there. She took the first step, then stopped. She promised not to rush headlong into danger, but risks are worth the cost if it means surpassing her limits.

“Let’s activate the well,” Miyu says, interrupting the Exo.

  
“Just the two of us?” The Exo looks down at her gun, then to Tamashii and finally Miyu. “I mean, if we don’t give it a big charge of Light, I guess we could probably try it...”

Miyu rises to her feet, producing the contained charge from a pouch within her robes. Tamashii circles her wide, his cyan optic trained on the steadiness of her hands as they hold up the offering to the Well.

“Wait, wait! That’s not a small charge of Light! We can’t-”

“Yes,” Miyu replies, firm. “We can.”

Lilith sputters. “That’s a large charge. We can’t. It takes way more than two Guardians to charge it all the way.”

“More will come, and if they don’t, we can see how far we go.”

The Stormcaller’s optics are comically wide. “But what if they kill us?”

The Awoken takes a deep breath as the Well clicks and whirls to life, the protective barrier activating. She reaches for the sword on her belt. Her eyes are hard. The Exo reels backward, not expecting the look on the until-now docile Guardian’s face. It’s like she’s become a different person. “I won’t let them kill you,” Miyu says.

She draws her blade.


	27. To Protect

“I told you we couldn’t handle this!” Lilith says, not sparing a hand to pull Miyu up from the ground. Their two Ghosts shimmer out of sight quickly as more bullets rain down on them from countless Scorn around them.

Miyu shakes off the resurrection, flexes her fingers - they feel tight - and draws her hand canon. “Relax. Your Stormtrance cuts their numbers in half. We can do this.”

“We can’t if you’re dying all the time,” The Exo squeals furiously in reply, sending a current of Arc through a Raider who twitches as he dies on the marble stonework.

“I’m working on it,” Miyu calls back, willing herself not to anger. Maybe she shouldn’t have gotten so bold, she thinks, but shakes her head and carries on before Tamashii can comment that she should trust herself. She can feel the fluttery feeling in her gut that is indicative of his surprise. Under her breath, to her partner as she cocks her weapon and fires, she breathes, “We can do this. I know we can.”

His reply is a reassuring pressure in her chest, a comforting hum in her mind. I’ve got your back, it says, without any words.

She ducks out of the relative safety of the shielded area and goes to work.

Relatively speaking, the enemies themselves are not difficult to beat, even the shielded ones. It just takes a moment to thin the herd. Miyu doesn't mind it, her stances shifting from simpler to more complex forms designed for multiple enemies.

Her blade begins glowing yellow white.

Tamashii all but vibrates from that strange, phantom place inside her head when he realizes it. Miyu refuses to pay it any mind, lodging that glowing blade into a Chieftain after her second strike disables his shields. This is nothing, she thinks. This chamber is full of Light. She can do more.

He's about to remind her that anything that does not injure her is truly a development, but then there is screaming.

It's behind her.

The thing about this city, beyond her heritage, beyond the words of people like the Queen's Wrath and the Corsairs, is that there is something here that has only been spoken about in whispers. They speak of the Taken. Of the Queen's brother and the Techeuns who have been taken and saved (and taken and saved).

Kamala Rior was smart enough, when Miyu did not make that metaphysical connection like Reefborn did to their homeland, to mention something different.

'There are forces at play, Cousin,' She'd said. 'Forces that Queen Mara engages on a different level than the one you or I fight on. The Taken are being directed by someone else now. Someone with more  _cunning_  than their late king.'

Miyu is not foolish enough to think that she alone could stop Savathûn. But she does know that her run-ins with the Hive may allow her to glean information pertinent to stopping the Witch Queen that others may not. At worst, she is simply another adversary willing fight Savathûn’s forces.

The bellowing yowl of a Knight is out of place in this encounter full of Scorn. She whirls around in time to see Lilith grabbed by the skull, hanging limply from it's monstrous, skeletal grip. His crust-covered blade is raised, ready to sever her at the neck. Small, gauntlet covered hands scrape and scramble against the one squeezing her in its grip.

Miyu catches the edge of black on the Knight’s blade. She does not need to think. She reacts.

Her blade catches it perpendicularly, the Light-devouring blade squealing against her own. It no longer glows. Nothing and no one will take my Light, she thinks ruthlessly, shifting her feet to face the smaller Warlock and bringing her blade up in a blinding arc of solar energy.

It severs the Knight’s arm - the one holding Lilith - and gives Miyu the split second she needs to wrap an arm around the smaller woman before darting away with a leap and glide. His next swing catches nothing but air and he keens, a harrowing noise rending the air.

Miyu drops the girl on crystalline floor as gently as she can allow, her healing rift unfurling beneath her without a second thought. “Alright?”

“I-” The Exo attempts to lift her head, but her cracked helm drops back against the floor with a thud. “That wasn’t my best work.”

The older of them reaches down and pulls her up to a shaking sit. “If they have a black blade, they’ll snuff your Light out when they hit you. Same for your Ghost.”

“A Weapon of Sorrow?”

“Smart girl,” Miyu replies, as the sounds of disgusting clacking Scorn yield to the howl of the Knight once more. “That Knight still has his blade. Don’t engage with him. I’ve got it. If another spawns, call it out. Hopefully it was just a fluke.”

“I’m not a girl,” Lilith bites back defensively. “And we’re never going to charge this thing with  enough Light to finish it on time.”

“That’s not our concern right now. We can always try again. We have to stop that Knight from leaving the chamber.” She hasn’t seen a Knight like that ambling around the Dreaming City yet. They can’t let it escape the Well. It’s too dangerous. If it can kill a Ghost or Guardian in a single swing, Miyu would hate to see what it could do to the Lightless Corsairs.

“But the loot,” The smaller of them whines.

Miyu lifts her with a singular fist balled in her battle-soiled robes and sets her on her feet. “This is  _not_  the time,” She snaps.

“Oh,” Lilith responds, suitably chastised. “Uh, right, sorry.”

The Awoken Warlock ducks through the ranks of Stalkers, her blade dancing behind her in sparks and fury. She throws a fireball of a grenade down behind her, to keep them from following after her to get to the Knight.

When the undead Fallen turn back, they’re met with glowing green eyes and a lightning storm.

Once she’s alone with the Knight tracking her every move, the arm he’d lost regrown thanks to his eerie ritual magic in the time it took her to refocus Lilith on the task at hand, Miyu allows herself a deep breath.

At her back, she can hear the static-laiden battle cry of her ally as she toasts the masses of Scorn. They aren’t the real threat here. This Knight is. She cannot allow a new Guardian - much less anyone who does not understand the true dangers the Hive pose - to enter into a battle with them and their Guardian-killer weapons so lightly.

Her knees bend and her grip on her sword tightens as she holds it out horizontally to parry the oncoming attack by the monstrous worm-host.

Their blades spark and burn, and the oily sensation of Darkness creeps down Miyu’s back when he scores her with his claws as she tries to dodge. When she rolls to a stop, pushing herself back up, she realizes that the Hive fighter is drawn to the Light her ally is producing.

It’s bright, Lilith’s light. It charges the air with a humid crackle. Her body is still glowing blue with it as she comes down from the heights of her Stormtrance. With a screeching cry, Miyu lowers her weapon to her side and lunges for him again, preparing a more powerful strike.

The Knight catches her blade mid-swing and sends it careening away, as if she is a pesky fly buzzing around him. His fist collides with her gut and knocks the wind out of her. She drops like a ton of bricks as the Knight pulls his sword from the ground where he’d dropped it to intercept her - apparently she wasn’t worthy of his blade, she thinks with hot embarrassment -  and continues lumbering toward Lilith.

There is no time to find or retrieve her sword from wherever it’s been thrown. Miyu takes another deep breath, closes her eyes. She has to do something. Lilith might think otherwise, but she cannot fight off this enemy on her own. Especially not after the throngs of Scorn they’ve been dispatching. Not when one blow has the potential to snuff her light out entirely.

She has to be brighter, Miyu coaches herself, returning to her feet. She is his opponent.

First, she has to get between them. She breaks into a run, dodging an errant Chieftain and several Raiders newly spawned. She cuts to her right and whirls around, putting her back to Lilith’s startled cry and nervous optics.

Second, she has to get something to parry the blow. Her sword is long gone. A gun won’t beat this enemy and his blade. Even if she unloaded her full clip into his head, it would just barely crack the armored pating that shields his insides.

There is no time. She has to have something, and now. The Knight has raised his blade over his head, ready to bring it down. Lilith has stepped back, but now she’s infuriated the Knight. He’ll kill her if she does not react. And if he kills her, there’s no way Lilith would beat him with this many foes around, whether the Well is charged or not.

The fire of her Light answers her when she calls it to her hands. It’s heavy. Too heavy.  There’s no way she can raise this sword against the Knight.

But…

Maybe she doesn’t have to. This sword, its weight… it’s familiar. She’s seen this sword before. A candle that becomes a bonfire, she thinks, feverishly fast. She does not need to hit him with this sword to protect Lilith.

She reverses her grip with lightning fast reflexes and plunges the greatsword into the ground at her feet. Golden light unfurls around her unlike any rift she’s ever cast before.

It’s so warm, Miyu thinks, vision fogging between blinks with tears.

The Knight recoils, dazed and salivating at the outburst of sunny, solar Light. His secondary hesitation is precisely the thing Tamashii needs to transmat her sword,  _Abide the Return_ , into her hands. The Light wells inside her, warm and true. Flames lick from the hilt in her hands to the tip of its blade.

When she strikes, she cleaves the Knight - sword and all - in two.

-/

“What was that back there?”

Miyu cocks her head, blinking her bright eyes curiously. “What was what?”

“ _This is not the time!_ ” Tamashii mock-snarls, albeit lightly, in a rendition of her previous agitation. “I don’t know that I’ve ever heard you sound so… well, done. Your battle was well won, but it’s been a long time since you’ve been so take charge.”

“I didn’t-” The Warlock’s pale face flushes. “Did I sound like that?” Miyu groans, “She probably hates me now.”

Tamashii taps her cheek with a rounded fin. “Nah. I think that’s just what she needed. You can assert yourself, you know, Yu-mi. I’m proud of you for it. That was really well done.” He rolls end over end and turns back to face her. “Besides, she said she wants you to show her some of your sword moves next time. Let's get back to camp, I’ll heal your hands and-”

“Tamashii,” Miyu interrupts gently.

“Then you can eat and rest... What?”

She peels off her burnt gauntlets, tucking them into her sash. Her alabaster fingers flex. They do not shake. They are not burned. “My hands are fine.”


	28. Protégé

Dainty footsteps traverse the ballasts between the Hangar and the Tower proper. She moves carefully between throngs of Guardians. It’s cold atop the Tower, certainly a far cry from the warm winds of the Dreaming City. She thought it got warmer after the Dawning ended, but the deckplates are wet from cold spring rain. It does not deter her. She has somewhere to be.

Her robes ripple with an errant blast of frigid air, and she pulls her collar closer to her.

Tess smiles at her with a polite grin as she passes, but it’s Rahool who calls out to her. No doubt because of what’s strapped to her back. She sees Zavala turn toward her, his aqua gaze glowing in recognition before he takes a surprised step toward her.

She turns, then, heading across the small catwalk that separates the one side from the other. Shaxx tilts his head in inquisition or surprise, she’s not sure which, and sends the Fireteam he’s dealing with away. In their place, she faces him.

“What do we have here, Stormcaller,” Shaxx bellows in his traditional holler. “Spoils from battle?”

She dips her shoulders as she unburdens herself with the heavy item. As she removes her helm, she can hear the footsteps behind her.

“It’s Dawnblade, now,” She replies evenly. Though she can’t see his eyes, he lifts his helm to make eye-contact all the same.

The footsteps behind her stop. “Is that so,” Ikora Rey challenges.

Green optics focus on her Vanguard, blink once, then once more. The latent darkness that clings to the weapon must have drawn Ikora here. “Yes,” She agrees, almost-pouty that she’s being doubted and by her Vanguard, to boot. When she speaks again, she tries her best not to snark. She’s been training in the Awoken city for nearly six months. Things change. “That’s so.”

The Warlock, clad in a full set of Dawning Reverie armor, turns back toward Shaxx, taking a knee to unwrap what she’s brought. It’s a Knight’s Cleaver, the blade thicker than the Guardian who brought it is wide, the weapon itself nearly as tall as Shaxx himself. She looks up at him with her build’s approximation of a grin. He’s puffed out his chest, leaned forward slightly. Interested.

“The Knight who wielded that,” She tells them both, “Did this to my sword.” She pulls it from her sash. From the looks of it, Shaxx can tell it’s an old Future Imperfect. The blade itself is shattered about a third of the way from the hilt. There are cracks through what remains of the metallic blade.

“How did you defeat it, Guardian?” The Crucible Handler sounds a touch breathless, always so enamored with hearing about others’ fights. Even Ikora’s eyes find her face, intent on hearing the story. “It must have been quite the battle.”

“I didn’t,” She replies, “My teacher struck him down.”

“Your teacher?”

Lilith nods but does not share further, returning to her feet. “In any case, she sent me here with this weapon and said you might be willing to trade me this,” She gestures down at the Hive Weapon, “For a new blade.” She reaches into her robes and produces a wrapped scroll of parchment, holding it out to Shaxx. “Here are her recommendations.”

-/

“That’s the one who marched through the Tower this morning,” Zavala comments to Shaxx, who stands beside him, watching the Warlock run through a series of drills.

She spins and parries imaginary enemies, landing in a crouch. Her balance is off with the weight of the new sword in her grasp - it is heavier than she is used to - and she topples into the dirt. The Warlock growls in frustration.

“Bend your knees more,” Shaxx bellows, evaluating her. “That sword is not some toy like your last!”

“No blade is a toy,” Lilith snarls up at him. She rises carefully, not bothering to dust herself off before executing the same series of stances again. She wobbles, but manages to stay upright at the end this time around. It only makes her more intent on doing it correctly, so she repeats the process.

Zavala looks back to Shaxx. “Does she remind you of someone?” The larger of them asks softly.

“Miyu has more finesse,” The Commander comments.

“I should hope so. This one is still a babe.” Shaxx gestures back to the Exo at work. “Those are her katas, though. I know them well. And, this one’s armor? From the Dreaming City. I believe Miyu has taken this newbie on as her student.”

The pale skin around blue eyes crinkles. “Plenty of swordsmen use similar technique. Miyu's focus was not on-”

“Look at this.” Shaxx hands over a flattened scroll. “This missive came from that girl.” Lilith cries out as she charges across the training grounds in a flash of fiery Light. “Who says it came from her teacher.”

“That is Miyu's handwriting,” Zavala replies, after studying the delicate notes scratched around a weapon design.

Shaxx nods. “Which makes that Warlock her student.” He tips his head, when Zavala does not react further. “Have you received any news from her lately?”

“She has been checking in as I've asked,” He admits. “But we frequently miss each other. A consequence of my position and her innate need to keep herself busy.”

“Does she speak to you about progress,” Shaxx asks next.

Zavala sighs. “She is making progress, but she’s more concerned with how I’m faring.”

“Of course.” He nods down to the Exo. “Shall I probe this one for answers for you?”

“That is unnecessary,” The Commander counters, backing away from the rail. “I won’t be staying.”

“Fine,” Shaxx grouses, “Be that way.” The sound of his voice tells Zavala that Shaxx is wearing a wolfish grin behind that helmet. “Buy me a pint later and maybe I’ll tell you what I get out of her.”

Zavala shakes his head. “It’s never just a pint with you.”

“No, it’s not,” He agrees, his Ghost transmatting his sword into his hands as steps forward. “But we both know it’s more enticing than revising expense reports and coddling New Monarchy.”

That much wins him the smallest peek of a smile. “Message me later,” Zavala tells his fellow Titan. “I’ll try to stop by.”

-/

Lilith returns to the Dreaming City, still feeling the beating Shaxx had bestowed upon her. She already misses the fresh air and greenery of the City - she never thought she'd have enough of this place and it's beauty, the pastel colors, the perfumed air - but she tries not to think about it too hard.

She finds her teacher near the battered building containing the Blind Well, conversing with one of the Techeuns. Lilith has only seen her briefly, following an encounter to return her after being taken.

Still, Sedia turns to her, nodding her greeting. “Guardian.”

Miyu casts her brilliant gaze Lilith's way as well, and it is then that the other Warlock notices the scorch marks on the sleeves of Sedia's robes and the answering abrasions and tears in the less reinforced areas of Miyu's. Judging by the state of the curse, the cycle has begun once more. It's likely that the Techeun has been recently freed. She seems a bit shaken as she turns back to the other Warlock.

“We're in agreement, then,” Miyu confirms with the queen's faithful.

“Yes. I'll inform Petra.”

“Thank you. Hopefully, it will be worthwhile to test if this particular variable changes anything.”

Sedia seems to phase away after, much like a Ghost. It's not strange, but still out of place to Lilith, who has not much experience dealing with the tech-witches under Mara's employ.

“So, you did the strike for Sedia without me,” Lilith pouts.

“Hello to you too,” Comes the gentle reply. “Did you get what you went for?”

Successfully redirected, Lilith's mouth plates light up in a pale yellow, indicative of a grin. “Yes,” She answers, hand on the grip of her new weapon. “He was excited to evaluate what you sent.”

“It's what you sent, not me.” Her quicksilver eyes are warm. “You were nearly successful. If I hadn't been too far away to pick you up, I would have let you finish him off.”

“I know, I know. I need to be more patient.”

“That makes two of us,” She says, looking off at one of the marble-like towers in the distance. “What did Shaxx say of your training?”

Lilith laughs. “Not much. He mostly beat the crap out of me.”

“Did you draw blood?”

“No,” The Exo admits, continuing defensively, “But I was able to push him back. I even made him lose his footing. Almost.”

Miyu waves a hand. “I'm not upset by that. You're doing well.”

“There's still a lot I don't know.”

“But that's good,” Miyu counters. “That means you have more to gain by studying.”

“You mean training,” Lilith grouses, but she readies her stance all the same.

“If you insist,” The Awoken agrees.


	29. Shattering

“Let me come with you!”

“No.”

“Please!”

Miyu swings her sword around, blocks her opponent's swing and ducks under her arm, punching the other Warlock in the gut. “You aren't ready.”  She returns to their starting stance while Lilith breathes hard, gasping breaths with a wheeze on the end of them. When she gets back to her first form, the blade moving ever so slightly with each breath, Miyu frowns. Her blade shouldn’t be moving. Lilith corrects it with a better grip. “Again.”

They begin as mirror images, their blades perfectly aligned. From afar, it might even look like a dance, something intricate and ornate, perfectly choreographed. It stops looking that way when the stances change, their forms no longer looking exact.

Lilith has good instincts. She does not rely on them enough. More, for certain, than she had previously, but not now. When she believes she is doing well, she grows cocky. That's dangerous.

Not that Miyu was ever going to let her follow her into the Shattered Throne this time. She can't. This time, she has to go alone. They need to know if changing the variables changes the outcome.

The smaller exo lunges, and Miyu strikes her down. Her Ghost, a quiet little thing with a voice like an elf, waits for enough Light to coalesce to revive her.

Fireteams of three have been infiltrating the stolen Throne world of Mara Sov like clockwork. The battle is fierce, but they always, after a time, are able to put down Dûl Incaru.

The Techeuns have wondered if a different number would change the outcome. The portal closes after three cross it. The last time, Miyu and Lilith went alone, the two of them together. Petra watched icily from the other side of the swirling entrance and allowed no others to pass. This time, they've asked for only one to go into the darkness that is Eleusinia. Of the several they approached, only Miyu reluctantly agreed.

She has spent almost five months now, in this decaying city. She is ready to go home. She does not have the connection Kamela Rior believed she might rekindle, she does not find herself reminded of someone she was before but is no longer. Home to Miyu is terran skies and the Traveler, the smell of wind and earthen incense, not this strange, sweet perfume.

The only one who seems to understand that is Sedia. Sedia, who is fraying at the edges, knowing that this cycle is divining to send her into madness. But Sedia understands her duty. She'll likely die in this city, at the hands of the Taken Queen, and forever become what she's been morphing into until she's erased permanently.

When that time comes, she asks for brutal, violent mercy. If she is Taken for good, she does not want her own queen to come for her. Miyu has not seen hide nor hair of Mara Sov. She does not believe that she'd come, even if Sedia begged.

But, even so, Sedia understands. She has shown Miyu around their City. She has spoken of the Darkness, of their enemies. Sedia understands that the Darkness is their true enemy, Corsair or Guardian, Techeun or Ghost. None of their differences matter.

Before Lilith had approached them, the conversation took on a different tone. Sedia does not want her here, when the pieces fall. And she believes they will.

'You're of far better use to us teaching them,' She'd said. 'Sending you on this quest is a fool's errand. You'll test your abilities, and, if you survive, feel as though you've gotten what you've came for.'

'I will not lose to her,' Miyu replied, firm. 'Nor her Fatesmiths.'

'Perhaps not. But promise me this: if you defeat her, go home.'

'That was my plan.'

'Teach more than just one of your brethren,' She had motioned to the returning Exo, all but skipping through the Divalian Mists, hand on the sword she'd recently received, 'How to perfect what you've achieved.'

Lilith barely takes a breath before she's up, charging at the Awoken. Blindly. Miyu dodges. She trips the girl and flips her, pushing her blade to the side of the synthetic mesh that comprises the outer layer of her neck.

Once again planted in the present, Miyu steps back and sheaths her sword. She offers her pupil a hand, to pull her to her feet. Lilith allows it, and rises, scratching the back of her head sheepishly.

“Would you show me that kata,” She asks. “From the  _Okuden_? I always mess up the footwork on the uke… uka-”

“ _Ukenagashi_.”

“Yes. I think I do better when I’m focused on my technique and my breathing.”

Miyu nods. “You do learn,” She comments mildly. Lilith pouts.

“I’d learn more if you let me come with you, you know.”

The older of them hums. Of course she’d tie in her argument somehow. “I have to do it alone,” Miyu pushes back, drawing her weapon and taking the initial stance in the kata. “Take up some strikes, find something else to do. Maybe see some other part of the system than this place.” She walks through the positioning slowly, each move precise and dangerous.  Lilith watches the demonstration studiously.

When the other woman’s sword is safely sheathed, Lilith tilts her head and questions, “Will you come back after?”

“I was going to tell you to meet me at the Tower,” She says. “Assuming you still think I have things to show you.”

“I mean,” She laughs a little as she moves to stand in Miyu’s place, to try and recreate the move she’s just seen, “How many more katas do I still have to learn?

Miyu braces Lilith’s abdomen and straightens her back. “Only about a million,” She teases.

-/

The Tower's only bar is relatively dead on a weeknight. Most Guardians worth their salt are at home, preparing for the next day's strike, or a few rounds in the Crucible. Most of them.

But not all.

The Commander sits at the end of the bar, nursing a lukewarm beer. Shaxx is next to him, but he's the type who never lets his beer run cold. Then, there's Ikora, on his other side, drinking a mixed drink. Shaxx suspects it's some fizzy beverage that's loaded with vodka.

It's strangely comfortable. The Crucible Handler hadn't been expecting much - certainly hadn't expected Zavala to message him, much less show - and had gotten way more than he'd bargained for.

The two Vanguard were sitting at a table when he'd come in. They'd been having dinner. It was almost too domestic for him. He had almost had to leave and come back, scrub at his eyes to make sure they weren't deceiving him. He had many questions. How long had it been going on? What triggered this? Had it changed anything?

“I hope you don't mind,” Zavala had said to him, while Ikora finished what looked to be a rather bloody cut of beef. A woman after his own heart, he thought briefly, before looking back at the Commander.

“Not at all,” He'd recovered quickly. “By all means. “Finish your supper and I'll wait for you at the bar.” When Ikora looks up, subdued enough, he revises, “Both of you.”

They conversed quietly when he'd walked away, but both of them had joined him ten minutes later.

“Dare I ask,” He starts, when it's been a while since any of them have spoken, “What has brought you two together?”

Zavala sighs, and Ikora smiles sadly into her drink. “Politics, for one,” The Warlock Vanguard answers flatly, rather than self-degrading or menacing. “We've been doing some thinking.”

“Is this to do with that idiot you've allowed to move into the annex? I don't trust-”

“Yes and no,” Zavala says, cutting him off. “He is necessary, and that is all I will say on the matter.” The Commander pauses, sips at his beer. “He's not responsible for our… meetings, though.”

“No.” Ikora echoes, looking Shaxx over. Eventually, she sighs and asks, “Why have you never shown interest in becoming the Titan Vanguard? You're certainly capable.”

His laugh is a short bark. “I believe Zavala is less of a hothead, as he's so eloquently told me throughout the centuries.” He looks to Zavala who smirks with only his eyes, but levies his head in a nod. He's asking Shaxx to answer the question honestly. “Truly?”

“Tell us,” Zavala beckons. Ikora hums as well.

“Let’s assume that no one ever discovers my previous… position,” Shaxx begins. “Though the theatrics would be hysterical. In any case,” He redirects, “Though I assert my opinion now, whether you lot like it or not,” He looks at his hands, clenches them in a fist, “I am not satisfied with leadership unless I am in total control.”

Ikora gestures ambiguously, clearly unsurprised by his reasoning.

“That and I'm not about to be thrown into that snake pit every time I make a bloody decision someone dislikes. I'm a warrior, not a politician.”

At that, Zavala and Ikora share a glance, leaning forward, looking around him. Shaxx realizes he's missed something. It comes to him in an instant, though. While he may not desire to be a leader in this day and age, he sees more than most will ever know.

“Everything would collapse,” He says, in the softest, mildest of tones. “You know that, right?”

“The Guardians all but govern themselves,” The Commander counters.

“We certainly wouldn't disappear overnight,” Ikora continues for him. “It would be a process.”

“It would, or it is?”

Both Vanguard exchange another glance. It only serves to ignite Shaxx's growing fury. “Nothing is certain yet,” Comes the alto voice to his right. “We’re just considering possibilities.”

The Crucible handler pushes back his mostly full pint glass - the barkeep had just given him a refill. “Sounds a lot more like you’ve both decided what you’re doing, just not the when.”

“We aren’t-”

“It isn’t-”

“Have you asked the old man about this?”

“Shaxx,” Ikora presses, when Zavala doesn’t answer, “We’ve just begun discussing this ourselves.”

“Oh, bollocks. If he wasn’t afraid Saladin would march right down off his mountain to come here and beat the sense into him, he’d have asked for his opinion already.”

“Listen here,” Zavala says.

“No,” He retorts, deadly quiet, voice quaking with emotion. “You listen. The both of you. If you don’t wish to hold your positions - to hold this City,” He looks pointedly at Zavala, “Then go. Find someone else to take up the mantle and be done with it. But do not sit here and tell me we don’t need a Vanguard. Maybe next time enemy forces come for the Traveler, we’ll just roll over and give it to them.” He rises, vibrating with the weight of his feelings. “Have the two of you ever entertained the idea of balance or has Cayde’s death made you both vy for the position of stupidest among you?”

“Leave him out of this,” Zavala growls, noting Ikora’s look of hot rage.

“Why? He valued you both. He’d be ashamed at what you’ve reduced yourselves to. He might not have liked being cooped up here; Hell, he thought it was a death sentence. If he left, whether he should have or not, he always meant to return. And he never once told you he’d abandon his post like you’ve both just inferred to me.” Shaxx drops a handful of glimmer - enough currency for all of their drinks and then some - on the counter. “I’ll not stay and hear another word of your self-pitying drivel.” His voice is soft still, but far more evocative than it would be if he we're yelling at the top of his lungs. “Enjoy each other's company.”

They wince when the door to the establishment slams loudly, the only indication the rest of the patrons have that Shaxx might have been less than his boisterous, happy self. Ikora and Zavala regard each other warily.

“I thought he would understand,” She whispers. “He's always had an issue with City leadership.”

Zavala looks down at his hands and sighs. “I think I've finished drinking.”

The Warlock Vanguard leaves her seat, her drink only half empty as well. “Shall we go then?”

He follows wordlessly, taking an extra step to hold open the door for her. The skies are dark, heavy with clouds. Any second now, it will start raining.


	30. The Tempting

“Okay,” Miyu says to Tamashii. “We’ve done this before. We just need to do it one more time.”

They both look at the portal then at the group behind them. Miyu meets the gaze of Sedia, who nods grimly. Petra flicks her fingers in a casual salute. They step carefully through the great black maw of the portal. The Ascendant Plane is cold and stale, just as they had left it..

“As long as you don’t drink that Tincture of Queensfoil garbage again, I think we’ll be alright. Slow and steady.”

She pouts, “I didn’t enjoy being ascendant. I didn’t ascend, I only seemed to attract every enemy around me.”

“Around us,” Her Ghost corrects. “I love you, Yu-mi, but it… well, that wasn’t your best idea.”

“Technically, it was Lilith’s idea. She had the bounty.” Tamashii looks at her knowingly, and her cheeks puff, just a little. He's missed her quietly expressive nature. “Okay, so I wanted to try it. Once was enough. I learned my lesson,” She ducks her head. He thumps her cheek affectionately.

“I know,” He replies, feinting up and around her. “Now let’s get to work, get this over with, and go home. Ready,” He asks, and she nods. Then, "Excited?"

Miyu moves her helmet from under her arm. Just as she’s about to put it on, she smiles. “I wonder if he’ll be surprised,” She muses aloud.

“I don’t know if that’s the right word,” Tamashii coos, melding into her armor as she puts her helmet back on her head. “I think he’s believed in you all along.”

-/

Lilith lets her Ghost take control of the ship when they break through the atmosphere, coming out of Orbit. Her Ghost is not a pilot, so she grasps the armrests of her chair tightly as the vessel shakes and rattles. The planet seems to be experiencing a downpour. Everything seems dingy, dull, and shaded gray.

“After spending a few months in the Dreaming City, this is almost a welcome change,” The petite Warlock jokes to her partner.

The little being chirps and hums her agreement. “Almost,” She quips lightly. “I know you won’t appreciate how much colder it is. Your body temperature is around thirty-nine point eight degrees centigrade.”

“What is the temperature here?”

“Negative two.”

“Shouldn’t it be snowing?”

Her Ghost whirls, calculating. “The rain here is sixty-five percent water and thirty two percent methane. The additional three percent is comprised of mild acid precipitate, pollution from Golden-Age artifact. Chemical composition of the actual rain itself makes it stay liquid. Before the Traveler terra-formed this planet,” The little bot continues, academically, “It would have been approximately negative one hundred eighty degrees centigrade, instead.”

“Still,” Lilith says, wishing she’d exchanged her Reverie armor for something a bit heartier. “I’m going to freeze.”

“If it makes you feel better, the temperature on Mars right now is negative fifty-three. Thankfully the Vanguard sent us here, instead.”

“Well, maybe it’ll be warmer in the Arcology.”

“Based on what I gathered from previous strike logs, it will be warmer inside. And even so,” Her voice takes on something softer, doting, “You’ve been practicing, Lilith. Your solar energy can help keep you warm.”

The Exo shivers anyway. “I know, Nizana,” She replies. “I just forget sometimes.”

The Ghost's intricate shell spins thoughtfully. “I would wager that to mean you don't know, clearly.”

-/

The sheer numbers of Taken are more dangerous than anything else. As Tamashii had suggested, they move slowly, Miyu thinning out their numbers from afar. Whenever they take a break, he synthesizes more ammunition as rapidly as possible. She'll run out of bullets before she dies, though the first could very well lead to the second.

She's meticulously combing through area by area, following the tips Tamashii gives her, flagging the direction he believes will lead them through the great maze at the beginning.

When they're through, she slips into a nook, a great crack that starts at the top of the building and becomes wider as it trails down. He heals her quietly while she catches her breath. She's exhausted already.

“I stopped counting at three hundred,” He tells her. “I realize it's easier with two, but I feel like there are more Taken here than there were last time.”

Miyu checks her gun, eyes hard. “Let's keep moving. I'd rather pick off as many of them as we can by surprise. It only gets more difficult from here.”

“Just remember to use your glide. They can't jump as high as you.”

Tamashii phases away with a shimmering spark and they're off again.

-/

Sloane is pacing across the open-air command deck. “It's a standard mission,” She's telling them. “Get in, disable their ritual, get out. Don't dally. The Hive in these parts are ruthless and use Guardians and their Ghosts as unwilling sacrifices.”

The Hunter next to her shifts, uneasy. Meanwhile, the Titan that accompanies them nods, almost eagerly. “It’ll be fine,” he tells the human woman between himself and Lilith. “Easy peasy.”

Lilith’s Ghost makes some irritated sound in her Guardian’s mind. The Warlock can’t help but agree. They’re just doing this to pass the time until Miyu returns. She never thought she’d miss training, but there’s something soothing in the structured discipline. She pulls out her sword and looks at her reflection in the blade.

Well, if nothing else, if she can have a good story to return to Miyu with - maybe put some of her new skills to good use - maybe she’ll be shown some more advanced katas. Miyu’s been holding out on her. Lilith knows it; Just like she knows where it is Miyu goes in the mornings - in the mists, overlooking the bay - for her own private training.

Getting into the Archology is an easy thing. There's some Hive but it's nothing horrific. Compared to some of her rounds in the Blind Well, it seems like a breeze. Even the runes spelled to keep the main buildings closed fall easily.

It's only once the doors close behind them with a boom and a flash of green, that Lilith realizes it just might have been this easy for a reason. She realizes it even more so when she sees a Knight with a blade she's only seen once before.

-/

Miyu has Tamashii transmat her Tigerspite - a gift, from Lilith following one of their early training sessions - into her hands to traverse the narrow ballasts between one area and the next. The near-constant fire keeps the Ogres from knocking her off and into certain death.

All in all, she makes it through with little issue, the number of enemies reduced severely due to the limited terrain. Tamashii bumps her cheek proudly and swaps the auto-rifle for her Service Revolver.

Then, she lingers in front of the doorway to the next phase. "The barriers and miasma will be heavier since you're alone," Ghost wagers. "Just keep moving and you should be fine."

Miyu nods. "Alright. Ready?"

"Ready."

She steps through.

It feels like her soul is being crushed, like the weight of worlds is forcing her into the ground. Tamashii was right in his guess; It's far worse than before. Her vision swims, and her eardrums feel like they're going to pop.

She makes it up the first staircase, thrall practically licking her boots they're so close behind her. Then, she high-tails it to the left and up the next.

That's when things get a little strange.

 _"Anata,"_  She hears. _"Miyu."_

Her footsteps falter. She looks up and around, searching for the source of the voice. His voice.

"It's a trick," Tamashii says from beside her.

"I know."

The miasma gets heavier. "We have to get out of here," He screeches, when she only takes another two steps and pauses. "MOVE!"

"I am," She says, slowly. Delayed. Tamashii circles her, notes how the Taken Thrall seem to wait carefully out of reach. His danger senses are white hot, on alert. Something is very wrong here.

"Faster, Yu-mi. Whatever this is, your helmet isn't filtering it. Listen to me."  He thunks the whole of his tiny body into her chest and she staggers. "Only me."

 _"Finally, you're here,"_  Miyu takes a shuffling step forward, dropping her gun. Tamashii is screaming something, but it's far away, like she's under water.  _"How I've missed you, Anata."_

She sees him, like a light at the end of a tunnel. Her feet move slowly, though it doesn't seem that way in her mind. There's something cloyingly sweet about the air in her helmet, but it's almost pleasantly fragrant and each breath makes her relax more and more each time.

No, some rational part of her mind challenges. She was here to do something. Tamashii said not to let her guard down.

But…

But, he's here. She wants - has wanted - more than anything to see him.

" _Don't worry_ ," Zavala says, so gently it makes her heart hurt. " _You must be tired from your journey. Come to me, dear one. Rest._ "

"I missed you so much," She mumbles, ambling closer. His words become her truth. She is tired, she realizes. Her limbs feel heavy, her head is buzzing, and she just wants to rest in his arms.

Miyu makes it to the top of the staircase after a long moment. Tamashii is still screaming at her, but she makes no indication that she can hear him. "Guardian! MIYU! LOOK AT ME!"

_"You have done so well."_

She smiles, behind her helm. "I can't wait to show you…"

"Wait, wait. Yu-mi? Who are you talking to? What are you looking at?"

_"Let me see you."_

She reaches for the clasps on her helm. Her Ghost fights her, knocking her hands away and phasing around attempts to brush him off like a pesky fly.

_"I need to see you, Anata. I want to look into your eyes."_

"I want…" She trails off, hands stilling. "I have to tell you…"

 _"Yes,"_ The vision in front of her breathes aloud, coalescing in a great violet-black plume of dark, speaking with the inflection of the Vanguard Commander. Except, to Tamashii, he can hear the anger. The fraud. He is not impacted by this miasma, the Taken essence pumped into the stale air.  _"Tell me everything. But first..."_

Miyu rips off her helmet. Tamashii screams. She looks over to him with clouded eyes, blinking slowly. A smile steals over her face.

" _You're tired, Miyu,_ " The voice says, " _Such a long journey, it's only natural that you should want to rest."_

"Oh," She slurs, staggering. Her brows furrow sleepily, "Wass'n't I-"

 _"You're home,"_  He says.  _"How I've missed you.”_

Miyu hums. "Tha'ss… yes," She agrees.

 _"Rest, beloved."_  In her mind, she sees a hand reach out to cradle her head that looks so unlike the dark Spectre her ghost sees. She's so tired, she could fall asleep standing up.  _"I am never letting you go again."_

Belatedly, she realizes that statement doesn't make sense. Zavala would never… never…

A brilliant white light steels into her vision, and, in that moment, everything becomes clear.

"STAY AWAY FROM MY GUARDIAN!"

"Tama-Tamashii?!"

There's a chink! then, a thunk as her partner hits the ground. Miyu looks over to see the Thrall - that's right, what was she thinking? - rushing his shell. Panic and fury bleed her vision white. She calls forth fire and lunges toward him.

It's the opening the Knight that's definitely not Zavala and has been waiting patiently for her at the top of the staircase needs to bring down his blade.


	31. Danger Games

“A Fireteam has gone dark in the Archology,” Ophiuchus calls, phasing through the door of the Commander’s office.

Zavala looks up. “How long ago?”

“Sloane says it’s been about three hours. The second team she sent barely made it out of the entrance. The Hive sealed the doors behind the first group. She believes it was a trap.”

“What did Ikora say?”

The Ghost spins the back half of his shell. “We put out the alert for any available Guardians to assist. There aren’t that many out there. The Hunters are hard to reach, and the only fireteams docked in Titan’s orbit are participating in a Gambit match.

Zavala's reply is furious. “Then call them out of it.”

Ikora appears in the doorway. “I did. They’re not answering me.”

“The Drifter?”

“Not answering, either.”

“How long do one of these matches take?”

His fellow Vanguard shakes her head, crossing her arms. “It’s not one of his regular matches. It’s that… new game. Prime.” She considers a moment. “They’re longer. Regular matches can take several hours. They could be at it all day.”

The Commander sighs. “How would you like to handle this?” He rises and heads for the doorway, Addy appearing over his left shoulder, while Ophiuchus hangs over Ikora’s right.

“I’ve put out an alert to any available Fireteams and Guardians in the region. Sloane is monitoring comms. Anyone we can get to help, we’ll send her way.”

“And the Drifter?”

She bites her lip, her frown pulling her lips to the left a little. “Well, if he doesn’t answer, we will have to speak with him.”

“I agree.”

“I don’t want Sloane involved.”

Ikora nods. Her voice is firm. “No. If he’s to stay here, he has to understand that the rules are not optional.” She turns her head and meets his eyes. “It has to come from us.”

He nods grimly. They enter the Courtyard, shoulder to shoulder, passing Lord Shaxx on their way to command. The Crucible handler turns, watching as they continue on together. There’s something different about them. From their posture, to the way they conduct themselves, it’s clear that something has changed since their little tift the other night.

“I feel I would be remiss if I didn’t offer you the first crack at him,” Zavala quips.

“How chivalrous of you.”

He chuckles. “I haven’t forgotten how terrifying you are to cross, Ikora Rey.”

Shaxx turns and watches until they’re out of earshot. What are they… What is- “What in the bloody hell is going on here?” He bellows. Some nearby pigeons scatter, and a Warlock and Titan flinch, while their Hunter runs away.

-/

She comes to with fire around her. Tamashii is screaming so loud it sounds like his speaker is shorting out. “Guardian! Miyu! WAKE. UP!”

He’s beneath her. Why is he beneath her? She doesn’t remember when or how it’s happened. “Tama-” She coughs, and feels an acute pain that lances across her back.

“I’m here,” He sounds relieved. “You have to get up. I can’t heal you here.”

Her arms shake when she tries to get up. “My helmet-”

“Gone. The Knight managed to crush your revolver, too. I’m sorry.”

“No,” She groans, rising unsteadily to her feet. “S’ok.” She takes a step forward, up the step and staggers.

Ghost hovers at her shoulder. “You’ve lost a lot of blood, and the Miasma poisoned you. If you see anything strange, I need you to tell me right away. You were hearing voices. I think it was the Knight casting a spell, but I don’t want to take any chances.”

She nods and leans heavy on the wall to keep upright. “Tamashii?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks. And, I’m sorry.”

He bobs. “It’s okay. The Miasma got through the helmet’s filter. I’m just glad you snapped out of it in time. It was... I was worried.”

“That Knight should be worried,” She growls, breathing heavy. She feels the uncomfortable slick on her back, and realizes that’s what Tamashii cannot heal.

“Miyu, he’s dead. Don’t you remember? You burned everything.”

“I did?”

He bobs in a kind of nod.“You did.”

She takes another step. “I thought he got me,” She murmurs, “‘S trying to get to you and-”

“Easy,” He says, when she begins coughing. She holds out her glove. Despite the nearly grayscale tint everything in the Ascendant Realm is covered with, the red of her blood is a stark contrast from the black poison she expels with it.

“Shit,” She curses.

Tamashii bumps her cheek. “Focus on getting out. We’ve got a ways to go.”

“If the Thrall come? There has to be more,” She grits out but keeps moving, following his instructions. She’s slouched forward, and he looks over her shoulder to the weeping wound on her back. This is bad, Tamashii knows. This is very bad. The Knight did technically get her; She just stopped him before he could finish the job.

“I haven’t seen one since they came after me.”

“So,” She sags almost bonelessly against a wall, and he flutters around her, tipping his cones to suggest that she can’t stop moving. “What it sounds like-”

“Move, Miyu. Move.”

She pushes forward, and he tries to ignore the blackened, bloody smear she leaves on the gray-marbled walls. There’s miasma in her wound, too. “We’re playing into their hands, aren’t we?”

“One Guardian is easier to kill than three.”

“Yeah.”

“But you’re not just any Guardian,” Tamashii says, making sure he’s in her face where she can see him, his tone terribly endearing, “You’re my Guardian.”

She hums and reaches for him, but he meets her half way. She staggers on after that, around a corner through a doorway, though her legs tremble and shake. “Tama no-”

“I know. Keep going.” She sighs and he chitters, nervously. “You’re almost there,” He tells her again. If she stops, she’s as good as dead. “Don’t give up, Miyu.  _Ganbari nasai._ ” Hang in there, he prays silently. Just a little longer.

-/

Lilith tells them to run. To stay away from the Knights with their dark blades, even if it means they have to go further in. She tries to kill the first one, but a Wizard joins him not long after, and she's forced to retreat as well.

There are more than one with these great weapons. Her mechanical heart sinks into her bionic gut. They don't attempt to fight them at range, in fact, she realizes they're actually trying not to harm them much at all. She voices her concerns in a fevered whisper to her team, when they’ve managed to build up enough distance between themselves and an immediate threat.

"Maybe they're a splinter group," Their Titan dares to hope.

The Hunter, trembling, grips her knife tightly. "No," She says, sounding breathless. "They're corralling us. They want something from us."

"Our Light," Lilith thinks aloud. "That's want they're not really trying to kill us. They want to siphon our Light!"

"Sloane mentioned that that's what they do," The Titan chirps. "So what do we do?"

"Sloane?!" The Fireteam comms flare up, and a Wizard screams from afar. "Sloane?"

The Hunter shakes her head at Lilith's frantic calls. "She can't hear us. They're jamming the signal."

“Well,” The Titan begins, willing himself to be calm, “Now what?”

Lilith puts a hand to her mouth, stroking the chin of her helm. “We have to keep those Knights - more specifically their swords - away from us. But we also have to take them out.” She looks at the Hunter. “I don’t suppose you know any of that invisibility nonsense your kind uses?”

She shakes her head. “Gunslinger.”

“I’m a Striker,” The Titan offers. “As long as I time their swings, I should be able to hopefully get them with my Arc.”

The Warlock sighs. “You do know those blades are a one-hit kill, right?”

“What?”

Lilith inhales to speak and is beaten to the draw by their Hunter. “Those Hive swords are… dangerous. They break through your armor, you die. Rips the Light right out of you.”

“I thought those were left on Luna,” He muses, subdued.

“No,” Both of the women reply immediately. “Obviously not.”


	32. Into the Abyss

She crawls through the other side of the barrier on her belly, in a slug-like army crawl. Tamashii hovers overhead, cooing encouragements louder than her cries of agony, staying low enough not so that he does not yell. When she’s all the way through, she falls flat, breathing heavy, lungs burning. She coughs up more of the potent Taken poison that’s flooded her system. **  
**

Tamashii scouts the area but does not ask for permission to heal his Guardian. His shell expands and she howls as he patches him up, the concentrated miasma fighting for purchase, clinging to open wounds and oozing over her skin. “I know,” He shushes her, both out loud and through their neural link as well, “I know it hurts, Yu-mi."

"It burns," She moans, dropping her rift beneath her to help him out anyway.

Her wounds don't heal all the way. There's not enough Light here. The miasma clots off the large slash that digs into the meat of her shoulder and scores her back at a diagonal.

“It’s not healing well,” She comments, rising - steadier, finally - to her feet. "But… We can't afford to waste time."

“I know,” Her partner says, with a sigh, “At least, the hard part’s over?”

“Sure,” She agrees, too easily. He watches her wince as she finds her footing. “Only-”

“Maybe we shouldn’t quantify it.”

She pats him on the top of his shell. “Probably not,” She agrees, with a tiny grin, a smile that makes the corners of her almond eyes crease.

The Ogre isn’t half as difficult as she’s anticipating. Either it’s because she’s expecting more bottled up torture to be unleashed upon her, or maybe because she’s still slowly but surely healing, or maybe something else entirely. Regardless, she manages to take down the Wizards with relative ease and summon enough fire and fury to take down the wrinkly, ugly behemoth after a round of removing its shields.

It’s what comes after that gives her more trouble. The walkways are crumbling and receding, with bursts of Taken energy at random intervals that threaten to send her spiraling into the Ascendant abyss. One knocks her off her feet, timed with an inopportune Taken Hobgoblin sending a volley of charged shots her way. She manages to hang on with one hand, and swing the other to pull herself back up after another volatile discharge of dark energy.

“I don’t think Sedia really had to try to convince me to go home after this,” Miyu grouses to herself. “I’ve really had enough of this City.”

“Eyes on the prize.” She dodges over another jet with a quick glide, raising her auto-rifle to fire at a Taken ahead and to her right. “We’ll be home before you know it.”

They stand at the beginning of the energy-geyser powered elevators. The end is closer than it was before. Only a lot of bobbing, weaving, and precarious balancing to go. Miyu balls her unoccupied hand into a fist. “Not soon enough.”

-/

The Festering Halls are aptly named. Damp, viscous liquid seems to ooze and drip from the ceiling. Their boots squelch and slop pieces of husk and the occasional crushed worm - a service, Lilith said, worth the cost of her very nice, well-maintained gear if it meant keeping another Hive out of the system. The Exo is grateful for her helm, for she’s certain that if she had it off the ambient flicker of lights in her jaw would surely give them away.

There’s a quiet clicking sound atop the dripping plink-plop of goo, and heavy roars off in the distance.

“I don’t know where I’m going,” The Hunter whispers. It’s too dark to communicate with hand signs.

Lilith hums. “We can either go up or down. The server rooms are below. The intel my Ghost has says Sloane hasn’t picked it clean yet, so we might be able to find something that can boost our signal and call for help. Or, we can try and go up.”

“What’s… y’know,” The Hunter asks, looking between the other two. “Up?”

“Maybe an exit,” The Titan considers. “Probably a dead end, or, maybe even the Fallen? I haven’t seen them since we got down here.”

“We’re sealed in here,” The Warlock says. The Hunter nods. “So I think down is going to be the easiest, so long as we don’t tip them off.”

The sound of a bone-edged blade scraping thickly against the ground gives them pause. "We need to keep moving," The Hunter says, so they do.

The Knight hears their heavy footfalls and gives chase. The Titan boosts his abilities with his Light, eventually hauling the Hunter over his shoulder and telling her to fire behind them while he spirits them away. Lilith struggles not to switch over, to call her own lightning in order to keep pace.

Only stubborn pride allows her to keep up. She can't revert back to stormtrance every time things get rough. She'll never master the flames that way.

They rush around the corner and it's a dead end. The Striker glows and smashes his fists at the ground as the rampaging Hive approaches, cackling. The floor beneath them gives way. The fall is loud, her vision threatening to white out.

She sees a portal open up beneath where they're falling. Then, darkness.

A groan shocks her awake. Her optics flicker behind her helm. It looks like the Archology, almost. But it isn't. Stale air. No wind. A musty, rotting smell. Her mind reels.

They're in the Ascendant Plane. What do the Hive want? What are try trying to do to them?

Ghost, she thinks, evaluating the damage done to her, not speaking a word.

The reply feels like it comes from within her chest. Her partner is listening, the slow trickle of Light healing her mangled limbs almost lazily.

"Ping Miyu," She whispers desperately into her helm. Their Fireteam's Hunter is crouched nearby, trying to bring up their Titan who'd died on impact, helm cast aside and begging for their partner's to move quicker. Her Ghost is trying to assist his and failing. He'd taken the hit for her, buffeted her fall. "If there's a chance she can hear us…"

"I don't know that it works like that," Her Ghost, Nizana, replies, barely vocalizing the words. Lilith's sensitive ears pick it up anyway. "But I'll try."

The Warlock wobbles as she stands, but she has to make sure there's no immediate threat.

There isn't. She instructs her Ghost to assist the other two. It's not working, still. "There isn't enough Light," The Hunter screams bitterly, without regard to what can hear them in this shadowy realm between worlds. "They've cut us off."

Lilith takes a knee and thinks it over. "My rift won't be enough," The exo chatters to herself, looking over her dead and battered teammates respectively. "But, maybe…"

"What's your name?"

"What?"

"I'm Morgana." Hunter says, looking up at Lilith's impassive helm. "I want to know your name. If we die here I want to know you before we go. I didn't get to know his-"

His Ghost rumbles, as fierce as the Titan he oversees, "He's not dead for good. I'm not done trying."

"One," Lilith says, "His Ghost is right. He's not totally dead yet." She rises and draws her sword. "Two, we're not dying here. I refuse," Her voice is determined, erring on petulant. So stop freaking out."

"Well last I checked, we have no idea-"

The Warlock points her sword at Morgana, willing herself to be as cool and as brave as her trembling hands will allow. "And three, my name is Lilith. Now shut up and let me try something."


	33. Drink at the Well

Her blade moves like a starburst, a cataclysmic supernova that streaks through the sky.  _Faster_ , each metallic clink beckons.  _Stronger_ , each ringing blow begs. **  
**

The battle itself has a rhythm. She is smaller and faster and smarter than them. Their cleavers  have a game force wind all their own, the swing of their blades vicious and unyielding. She is safe so long as she doesn't slow down.

Her blows are low, but this is not the time for chivalry or niceties. When the first Fatesmith falls, having been dropped to its knees with one ankle almost completely severed, she lights her sword in fire and pushes it through the thing's skull. It burns clean. She takes barely a second's pause.

The third Knight, the least damaged of them catches her with the blunt end of it's weapon and nearly sends her hurtling to her death. She's scrabbling for purchase on a rock barely large enough to use as a handhold, floating out over an eternal abyssal wasteland.

Ever so patiently, Taken begin to appear along the edges of the circular room, awaiting her return. They cackle and froth in anticipation, their combined energies making what's left of the unhealed wound caked with miasma on her back pulse in time with her heart.

 _"Hikari no Tama,"_  She whimpers, losing purchase on her sword as it tumbles into the bottomless pit below. Both her hands cling to the tiny rock so that she does not fall to what he fears will surely be her final death. "I have to-"

You can do it, She feels his reply more than she hears it, like a realization rather than a thought. I know you. I've always known you. You will defeat them.

"I-I think have to let go," She whispers down into the abyss, white eyes aglow.

He appears like a struck match beside her, a frantic spark of flame, cones twitching in panic. "A-are you crazy?"

"No," She replies. "I'm sick of being afraid."

-/

Lilith breathes deep. Moments like these make her wonder if she really needs to breathe, or if the remnants of her once organic brain that's been uploaded into her synthetic body simply override the machine impulses with sympathetic ones. She focuses on her core, her chest, her mechanical and philosophical heart all wrapped into one neat little package somewhere behind her rib-plating.

Sparks flicker at her fingertips as she does her best to recall.

Her teacher - Miyu never referred to herself as a Dawnblade or a Sunsinger. For a short while, Lilith just figured her powers were a great gift, a superb anomaly she kept hidden at all costs. That in their first meeting, it had been some strange game of possum, that the Awoken woman had been feeling her out. It's why she'd begged Miyu to teach and to train her.

Really, she just wanted to learn that epic sword move.

She'd plunged the sword of daybreak into the ground and created this glowing sunrise of Light, a vortex of empowering, healing radiance that was unlike anything Lilith had ever known. It was a spectacle - not that she'd had time to really appreciate it in that moment, but she'd watched it over and over thanks to her Ghost.

That Miyu ever agreed to train her is still a surprise to her. She's not above admitting her flaws. She's cocky and haughty and absolutely distracted the second new gear is waved in front of her face plates. And yet, Miyu saw to her daily, teaching her drills and katas and stretches. Helped her find her inner flame.

Yet, she learned the truth: Miyu didn't know her own anymore.

Saving Lilith had been a fluke, she'd said. That moment itself was the anomaly. It was the first time so much Light hadn't maimed her in the process. The first time her Light had soothed her, embraced her, made her whole since before long before Lilith had been risen from her dirt nap in the outskirts of Old Chicago.

Her hands come in close to her heart chakra, and her eyes open just once, meeting the pleading gaze of the Hunter, Morgana, and their three Ghosts who anxiously wait.

Miyu had taught her how to perfect her Dawnblade - how to throw swords of fiery golden Light that track any foe. But when Miyu tried to produce them herself, her hands would shake, and her fingers would blacken and swell.

She wouldn't show Lilith though. That's why Lilith started stalking her in the mornings, trying to catch her training privately. At first, at least. Then, as she learned more and more, she realized how much technical knowledge Miyu was withholding.

In her mind's eye, Lilith envisions a candle.

'That is how it begins,' Miyu had told her, when she'd finally convinced her teacher to tell her more about her unique ability. 'To draw from the well of your power, think of a candle, burning bright like a bonfire. You are but a singular flame against the darkness. You may not think so, but your Light is far brighter than you think.'

A rift forms beneath her. Her fingers shake with what she’d like to think is force of will.

Miyu's hands never shook when she called upon the Well.

'This is who I am now,' She'd said, after their first run through a Strike together. 'I am not ashamed of what I've become, but I wish to be more.'

'Why? What you can do is amazing,' Lilith had said at the time. 'Who cares if you're not a true Dawnblade? Your ability, it's so strong, it’s amazing!'

Her fingers twitch and spark as her eyes close once more.

'I'm terrified,' Her teacher answered, the quicksilver glow of her eyes distant and hard. 'I'm terrified that one day I may call upon the flames - my sword - and realize that it's all burned up, gone.'

The sword is larger than Lilith is anticipating.

'It isn't made to attack,' Miyu had explained, once she'd overcome the fluke nature of her ability and finally claimed this form of the daybreak sword as her own. At the time, Lilith had hummed in awe. 'Your power - this Light - comes from your resolve. To protect others - to share your Light with them - that is where the strength in this ability lies.'

It's heavy. She lodges it into the ground at her feet.

"Now," Barks at the Ghosts. "This is-" She sets her jaw. "I don't know if I'll be able to keep it up for long."

'I've decided to call it the Well of Radiance,' Miyu imparted to her, eventually.

'It looks effortless,' Lilith answered, stepping inside the plume of energy. 'Like a rift-driven, Golden Ward of Dawn. Seems way easier than casting Dawnblade.'

Miyu'd found it funny at the time, if not a little insulting. 'It asks for everything I can possibly give,' Was the cryptic answer she'd given. 'That is how I know it's worthwhile.'

Lilith knows better, now. A candle burns into a bonfire, and a bonfire burns hot and bright. It consumes everything. It will consume her too, if she lets it.

At her feet, the Titan gasps through his first breath of his newest life.

'Commander Zavala describes the Ward of Dawn to be akin to filling up a cup, the way the power starts at the ground and builds up and around, steady and controlled. The Well is similar, but... Our cup is overflowing,' Miyu told her. 'And we invite those who thirst for more to drink.'

She's done it, Lilith thinks, as the rift and sword dissipate, her knees buckling.

If she had blood, it would be pounding in her ears, although her auditory receptors are overloaded, much like the rest of her. The Hunter flits to her feet in a flash, wrapping her arms around Lilith's shoulders. The Titan rises as well, a firm hand on her back. They keep her upright.

"We have to move forward. Whatever it is they want from us, we're dead meat if we stick around here," The Titan muses. "I say we face those bastards head on."

"Nizana," Lilith murmurs. Her Ghost transmats herself so that they're optic to optic. "Did you get through to her?"

"I have to admit I was a little distracted, considering," She spins her front fins, punching them close together to indicate Lilith's newly exposed power. "I'll keep trying."

"Thank you. If she's still in Eleusinia, maybe somehow, we can still get a message to her."

"To whom?" Morgana asks.

"The person who taught me about that," She mimics holding the sword. "She might still be in the Ascendant Realm."

"Yeah, tell her we need help," The Hunter nods.

"Can she get from there to here?" The Titan's Ghost wonders aloud.

"I don't know. We just need to stay alive. I know they'll send someone after us."

"True. Sloane takes everything the Hive do to heart. She'd come after us herself," The Striker says, fiercely, "If it comes to that."

Morgana sighs. "I think it might come to that," She says, gesturing down the murky din of the hallway, and the glow of haunting Hive eyes.


	34. Daybreak

One second Tamashii is screaming at her not to let go-

-and the next, all is silent as she finds the space between each breath.

This is not like what she'd seen earlier. If the Taken and their devil queen truly, truly wanted her corrupted, this would not be the moment - the vision - they show her. This is a different sort of unmaking.

She's looking at herself.

And herself - the one she sees - is screaming.

Tamashii - in his old, old, ceremonial shell - hangs in front of her, shivering and waning. Her fingers are shaking.

Miyu doesn't remember this, not in first person perspective. She watches herself move her hands, jerky, sluggishly strange motions, trying to catch him in her grasp, to bring him into her.

She cannot feel her arms past her elbows right now, she absently recalls as she watches. It was as if she had been stripped of her nerve endings. Everything else feels like she's been burned alive because inside - at her core, the place where her soul meets her body - she has.

The words she slurs, attempting to speak, are a combination of Common and Japanese. It sounds bizarre, but… It makes sense. She was human once, like many of the Awoken. When she was first Risen, she’d had the same problem, and in times of stress and shock, her brain overrode her and reverted to what she’d once been.

_'T-tama…'_

He's dazed, looking about frantically, optic unfocused. She doesn't need to look behind where she stands, a specter experiencing a moment from her past, to know what's coming. The oncoming Legionary bellows in its native jargon. It's some hellacious, triumphant yell.

' _Onegai, Hikari no Tama,'_  She's begging, trying and failing to rise. Dirty tears sizzle from the heat her body gives off when she cries. 'Please, you have to-'

The Cabal raises it's weapon, ready, intent to strike.

Miyu doesn't remember this. She remembers Tamashii blinding them, stopping the beast from killing them, but this moment is lost to her, wiped clean from her memory, gone.

And then - The dirty-faced, sobbing version of herself moves like lightning. She ducks beneath her enemy's bloody, extended blade, preventing it from piercing Tamashii's vulnerable core in this state.

She gasps as the realization hits her. It's like being underwater and coming up for air.

Tamashii wasn't the one who bought them time, whose Light allowed them to escape. He hadn't blinded them at all.

It was her. She'd saved them. It was her, all along.

'You cannot have it,' The broken Miyu rumbles, eyes vicious, so perfectly aware of her impending death, yet not shying away. Her trembling, numb fingers wrap around the red maw of the beast's face. 'You will never have our Light.'

The Light was always with her, she realizes. Miyu blinks and suddenly her hands are on the Cabal’s face as well. She is no longer the specter.

It may be different, she realizes as it explodes from her fingertips in fire and fury, maiming their enemy, but it is hers. It has always been there, inside her. Waiting for her to know herself, like it has always known her. This is what she's been missing. She'd had it inside her all along.

Where she'd once fallen back, scrambling to scoop up her confused Ghost and run away, she rises, wings at her back, sword in her hands.

She is a Sunsinger and a Dawnblade and she is more than that and it is everything.

She is no longer afraid.

-/

There is something cathartic about defeating the Hive, Ikora reasons as her gun barks at one rather reckless Thrall and blows it to bits. It has been quite some time since she's gone out into the field. Not because she is incapable; Certainly her prowess is felt because the higher ranking enemies watch her with concern and wariness.

The real reason is because of Cayde, but she squashes that thought. Focus, she thinks. There's static in her ear as Ophiuchus patches Zavala in. "Everything alright?"

Ikora hums. "I'm almost to the seal Sloane described. The sheer number of Hive is almost impressive."

"They throw everything at us to try and keep us out when they perform their rituals," The Deputy Commander cuts in. "I'll keep looking through the archives, to see if I can find anything of use."

Ikora rolls her eyes. "You can stay on the line, Deputy Commander," She grouses. "We shouldn't bicker too much."

The Commander chuckles low. "Have we become that fearsome that you would relegate yourself back to the archives? I am certain you've read every useful text from cover to cover the first time we dealt with this sort of situation."

Sloane's laugh borders on nervous. Ikora sighs as a scream rends the air. "Sounds like they might have an… Omnigul?" The comms pop with static. "Any word on reinforcements," Ikora questions. "Or shall I do this independently?"

"Please don't," Zavala says, and where once it felt like a dig, she feels his concern like a warm bloom in her rib cage. "I want you to get them as much as you do, but it isn't smart to go alone."

"Is that Gambit match-"

"That wasn't an Omnigul, Ikora," Sloane sounds resigned. "Those are the Primeval Envoys."

"But I'm in the Archology. I shouldn't be-"

"I blasted him after the first Prime match he had. Thought he was going to send the whole Rig into the sea."

Zavala growls.

"It won't. That's what he said. He's been running matches here day and night. Not great for my beauty sleep," She jokes, "But the structural integrity of the Rig is fine."

"I'll be having a word with him," Ikora says. "Don't worry."

Sloane whistles. The static strips it down, makes it less shrill. "Oh boy."

"Indeed. Sloane, have you gotten anything?"

"We haven't gotten any hits yet," The Deputy's frown bleeds into her tone. "And to send them from Earth or Mars-"

"I've had my Ghost alert Shaxx," The Warlock Vanguard informs them. "We'll have to break up any Crucible matches in the vicinity. We can't waste time."

"You might as well send them from Earth, for how long arguing with Shaxx will take," Sloane inserts herself, tersely.

"It's fine." Ikora steels herself. "Maybe I should-"

"No!"

Ikora hesitates at the rawness, the anguish in Commander's tone. Quieter, he says, "Not alone. Please."

"I'm not-" The thought stabs her like a knife to the heart, still unable to so casually say her fallen comrade's name. It's still too soon. Instead, she continues, "I can handle it."

"I'm sure you can," Zavala agrees. Sloane coughs and excuses herself. The line gets quieter still. "However, I would feel better if someone, anyone went with you."

"Are you speaking as-"

He interrupts her. "I cannot fathom losing you, too."

The line is nothing but static for a moment.

"I'll thin their numbers and try to break this seal, but I won't go into the Archology."

The Commander exhales. "Thank you."

"I realize," The comms flare, crackling and loud, "That you're having a moment here," Shaxx bellows, "But I'll not have you interrupting my Crucible."

"There are teams involved in Gambit on Titan, but the Drifter isn't answering," Zavala says smoothly. "Wormhaven is the next closest. We need-"

"That sounds like a  _you_  problem, Commander. The Crucible doesn't wait, and it certainly doesn't stop if that moron doesn't have to, either!"

Even the static stops after he's finished shouting. It's abundantly clear that Shaxx is now content to ignore them, too.

"I'm going to lock them both in a room together," Ikora growls. "They'll either kill one another or annoy each other to death."

"I'd be inclined to assist you," Zavala replies coolly. "After," He recovers, ever the voice of reason. "We cannot lose any more Guardians."

"Right." He hears the gunfire over her connection, the Hive's shrill shrieks.

"Check in with me in five," He tells her, less friendly and more demanding. Standard protocol is twenty. But it's also the first time one of them has gone on such a mission since... "Please," He revises.

"Don't worry, Zavala." Ikora dips her head, looks at the amassing enemies, and summons the Void. "I'll check in shortly. Everything will be fine."

Millions of miles away, Zavala's Ghost hovers close, tutting that he needs to relax. He's doing it again, imagining horrific outcomes. Ikora's compromising. She can handle this, and he needs to clear his mind and focus if he's going to provide their Fireteam support instead of fussing about.


	35. The Lost

At some point, the whispers began. At first, they were just echoes of sound, not words, that seemed to bubble up behind them. They'd jump and turn their guns in a strange direction, startling each other, then laugh it off, try to calm themselves and press on, into the darkness.

And then the whispers started speaking to them.

Lilith doesn't know when the raspy shucks and shahs echoing off the became words that only she can hear. And she doesn't know when she started screaming into the darkness for them to stop, arguing against them -  _So what if she's not entirely organic? She's just as human!_

She only realizes it when the Hunter grabs her hands to prevent her from harming herself, from scratching at the plating where her ears would be if they weren't sensors and -  _She really was human once, right? Wasn't she?_  - as she locks onto the blood dripping from under Morgana's helm, over the collar of her Hunter cloak that something is changing. Something is wrong.

"Don't listen," Morgana tells them both. Lilith can feel their entwined hands shaking, and the Hunter grips her harder. “Get a hold of yourselves.”

The Titan takes his helmet off, gasping. Lilith barely remembers him telling them his name is Alberto, but his friends call him Bertie. He has dark skin, her mind stutters, thinking of something besides the Hive. It reminds her of copper and bronze, like the metal that she…  She tries not to think of herself as a computer that can be reprogrammed like the voices have started telling her. Instead, she focuses on his face. His ears are bleeding. "Are yours-"

"Yes,” Morgana interrupts breathlessly, grunting. “We have to keep ourselves together. Deep breaths. Everyone with me?”

“I-”

“Nizana, did you get anything out of Miyu?”

The Warlock’s Ghost flickers between the trio like a flash-bang, dimming her optic so she doesn’t cast too much light. Lilith continues holding one of Morgana’s hands. Her grip is warm. The Hunter wraps her newly freed hand around Bertie’s wrist. “It let me send a message,” The petite bot says. “I confirmed receipt, but it hasn’t been read yet. She must be occupied with things. Usually her Ghost usually reads them immediately.”

“She must still be in the Ascendant Plane then! When she opens it it-”

“I’ll let you know straight away.”

-/

Her sword slices through everything like it’s cutting through butter, like the hard bony plating of the remaining Fatesmiths are softer than the worms that grant life within them. They howl as they fall, burning to dust. The Wizard watches her. Savathûn’s daughter.

The Eternal Return.

Miyu turns her eyes toward her, her toes barely touching the ground. It isn’t necessary. Her Light burns brighter than ever before. She holds out one perfect, burning, ethereal sword of Daybreak. “You’re next,” The Warlock tells her, willing her voice to stay even. She refuses to grow manic with power, just because she calls upon the flames and they feel right for the first time in she can’t remember how long.

Dûl Incaru calls upon her forces. Taken Thrall, Acolytes, Knights spawn.

They come too close to the fiery Warlock, and they turn to ash, burning away almost as fast as they spawn. The Wizard laughs, a high pitched cackle. She waits it out. The aura of Solar Light will eventually fade. She prepares to throw lofty blasts of Darkness at the Awoken Lightbearer when it does.

Miyu does not wait, though. She comes in close, she does not hang back like she had before. “You are my last obstacle,” She tells the Hive witch through gritted teeth.

Beside her, one of the Fatesmiths rise again. Her enemy’s massive shield regenerates.

The Warlock closes her eyes. The Light within her feels limitless. Her heart, her mind, her soul, it all feels like she could soar. She twists in a lightning-quick movement, and splits Ba-Kuur in half. He’s ashes in the wind once more. Eyes that shine like twin moons narrow in deadly intent. “Your turn,” Miyu says. “Do us all a favor and stay dead.”

The Witch Queen’s daughter does not like that.

She casts jets of chilling Darkness at her opponent, but her opponent does not seem phased.She weaves around the blows, and when Dûl Incaru lands a hit, she does not seem phased. Instead, she tips her sword and twists into the next volley and when she’s cut through that, she aims for the Wizard’s head.

Gaurog rises in the nick of time and sends her flying into a pillar.

She bounces back, fire and flesh made new. She plunges the Daybreak sword into the ground at the Wizard’s feet. Gaurog comes to his master’s aid, and Miyu holds out a hand and lets the fire consume.

It was less annoying when it was three of them, the Wizard thinks, those furious white eyes turn back to her. The Lightbearer glows yellow instead of orange - a different flame, though not any less uncomfortably warm. The Worm inside her constricts and she bites back the scream as it - and she - are destroyed from within by the Light they seek to claim, to destroy, to use to open the gateway.

Next time, The Witch Queen’s daughter thinks as she dies another death. Or the eternity of next times after that. The Curse on this place will again return. Eventually, the Distributary will be theirs.

-/

“Let me see, let me see, let me see!” Tamashii whirls around her frantic and concerned, phasing from side to side as she tries to follow him with her gaze. “Are you ok?” He scans her with a beam.

She nods, silent.

He makes a sound like a sigh. “Don’t you  _ever_  do that again!” He thunks into her chest hard. She brings her hands up, cupping him gently against her abdomen. “Letting go. What were you thinking?”

“It was a metaphor?”

“A metaphor? You could have died!”

Miyu laughs, giddy with adrenaline. “Sometimes you have to take a risk?”

Tamashii sighs. “Next thing I know you’ll be spinning a hand cannon and calling yourself a Hunter.”

“Never!” His partner sounds offended. She curls her lip as she peels back her Gauntlets, holds up her hands, flipping them side to side so he can see. “Also, see, I’m fine.”

“Yu-mi… Miyu. You cast… That was the whole - you used the wings, threw the swords - a LOT of swords…” He trails off. “Is this-”

Miyu nods. “I did what I said we were going to do.” She looks at the dingy, grey-tinged halls. “The Speaker - in my vision, he was right. The Light was there, when I was ready to stop being afraid.”

“It’s one thing in the moment,” Tamashii counters. “But now?” How do you feel?”

“Better. More… comfortable.” She smiles fondly. “Ready to go home.”

Tamashii lets her bring him up to eye level, her fingertips warm and gentle against the rounded fins of his shell. “I’m sorry about your sword,” He says. And he means it. About her helm and cannon, too.

“It did what it was meant to do.” A great, blackish blue, starlit expanse opens up in front of them. Their way home. It’s finally, finally over. And they’re both in one piece. "Anyway, Zavala thought it was more political than actual kindness." She shrugs. "And I do have other swords."

"You do," Tamashii agrees. She hums, still gently stroking his fins.  "Oh!" He demats from her grasp, as if something's finally gotten through to him. "There's - We got a message."

She straightens. "From who?

"Lilith. Wait,” He says. "This doesn't make sense."

"What?"

"We shouldn't be receiving anything while we're here. I've only seen our comms work when all parties are on one plane or the other."

"That's not possible. She said she was going to do strikes for the Vanguard. She left days ago." Miyu frowns.

"It's-" Tamashii stalls. "They were in the Archology. Her Ghost said they fell through the lower levels, then there was a portal, and-"

His Guardian gets the idea. "Can we get to her from here?"

"I don't think that's how this plane works. We're in a throne world… I think we should inform the Vanguard. If they send in more Guardians, they need to know what's going on."

"Okay," She agrees. "Send them a message and let them know we're coming." He falls silent, but confirms when the message has been sent through the phantasmal space of the dark-infused plane.

They leap through the portal. Miyu's focus isn't on Petra Venj, the Queen's Wrath who is studying her with great scrutiny.

"So?" She inquires tersely, demanding the other Awoken’s attention.

The Warlock straightens, turns her white eyes to meet Petra’s sky blue gaze."It was more of the same. I defeated-"

"Guardian?!"

Miyu stops mid-sentence, turning back to Tamashii.

His body shifts uncomfortably. "I just got another transmission from Nizana. It's an audio file. It's… kind of," He processes, "Hard to make out." The Warlock can feel Petra's brilliant eyes burning holes in the back of her head, she's starting at Miyu. "Sounds like combat. And - wait, this doesn’t sound right..." He wilts, "It ends in screaming."

"Is the timestamp-"

"Recent. In the last twenty minutes."

"Pull the ship from orbit. We can't waste time."

Tamashii flickers away. The Queen’s Wrath coughs.

"They took Sedia again,” Petra informs her, “Roughly forty-five minutes ago. I had hardly taken my eyes off her for an instant."

Miyu's look down. She sighs. "Sedia understands her duty. I'm sorry that my efforts did not help change things."

"The Curse has been repelled. It's as much as we can hope for, for now." Petra shifts her weight to her other hip. Her visage hardly softens but it's obvious she's trying to be considerate. "She had informed me that this was to be your last cycle."

"Yes."

She nods. "I won't keep you, then. Things are right back where they started from." The woman shakes her head, remembering herself and the required diplomacy of her position. "Anyway. We're grateful for your help," The Queen's Wrath offers. "Light go with you, Warlock."

Miyu speaks, her bell-chime voice both soft and proud. She looks Petra in the eye as she nods. "Queen's blessing, Cousin."

Unlike when she'd come here, on a wing and a prayer, full of doubt, she leaves the Dreaming City with purpose. There is no second guessing or doubt, no indecision. What she sought, she'd found. She does not look back.


	36. Rapproachment

The Hive knows they're clearly no match for her. Ikora thins them down systematically, albeit a little lackadaisical in her execution. Her agreement not to go alone leaves her with an excess of time, and her enemies positively scrambling. 

Sloane's voice comes crisply over the comms. "We've received word from the Dreaming City. There's a Ghost who says he's picked up a transmission from our missing Fireteam."

"How?" Zavala's wonders, concerned "None of our attempts were successful."

"The Ghost reports that he and his Guardian were working on purging Mara Sov's throne world," The other Titan sighs, her working knowledge of the Dreaming City is only based on reports. "Our Fireteam said… something about falling through a portal to the Ascendant Plane. Apparently our helper just so happened to be there, which is why they were able to receive the transmission. Anyway, most of the transmission is just… Hive speak and screaming.” The normally composed woman’s voice hinges, a little breathless with worry. 

"That isn’t good," Ikora says, punctuating her words with a blast of her gun. She evaluates the direction the Hive come from. Another wave or two and she'll be ready to unleash another Nova Bomb. 

"No," The Deputy Commander agrees. "I instructed our Ghost contact to bring their Guardian here. ETA is five minutes. I just hope we’re not too late."

"As long as those doors are sealed, I would suspect that there's someone left to save." Ikora pauses, reloading her weapon. The Hive forces watch, wary. "That means we have to push forward.”

“Back to this message,” Zavala redirects. Neither of the two women are surprised by the slight waver in his volume. The good Commander is likely pacing. “What else do we know?”

"The transmission was sent by a Warlock that goes by the name of Lilith-2. It’s all a bit fuzzy," Sloane imparts seriously. The comms click. Her voice softens. "Basically, she’s begging for our incoming Guardian to rescue them."

When Ikora frowns, it weighs down her voice. “Lilith-2, you said."

“Yes,” Sloane obliges.

“I see." Static reigns for a moment. Then, Ikora breathes, "I'm going to look out for our newcomer. Standby."

The Warlock Vanguard looks over at the onslaught of Hive. The worms continue to send their grunts to their deaths. She leaps into the air with a practiced ease, already glowing a regal violet. The  _whirr-pow_  her innate ability makes is deafeningly loud.

Then, all is quiet, except for measured footfalls behind her.

Ikora turns around, unsurprised as always.

"Hello, Miyu."

"Ikora," The other woman replies, likewise. Both appraise each other. It's a touch resigned, and a bit wary. Though it's been six months since they'd spoken to each other, neither has forgotten their exchanges. "Sloane mentioned you were here."

"Is that a problem?"

The Awoken Warlock presses her lips together and shakes her head, humming, "Not at all."

"You're sure?"

Miyu holds up her hands. Her cloves are cracked and worn. Upon a brief inspection, most of her is a bit… singed, around the edges. "I have no qualms about working with you," She says. Her tone remains gentle.

Ikora nods, gesturing to her. "You are able and willing to assist?"

Lunar eyes lock onto the Vanguard's golden irises. Everything about her is etched in seriousness. "More than."

"And your… issues?" She tries to put delicately. "I mean no offense, Miyu, but I'll not bring you into the Archology if you're only going to be," She gestures. The other woman gets the idea.

Miyu discards her battered gloves, letting her Ghost transmat them before they hit the ground. Her unblemished fingers seem to glow thanks to the pale aura that resonates beneath her skin. She looks down at them, then up at Ikora. 

"Resolved," She breathes. There's an edge there. Her Vanguard cannot tell if it's directed at her, or at their enemies. As Ikora goes to speak, Miyu interrupts. "Completely."

There is conviction there. 

Ikora nods to herself, reasonably appeased. "You and your Ghost can apprise me of what you know as we go," She instructs. "I want the intel from a first hand source."

Miyu nods. "Understood."

"And if I tell you to do something, you'll do it."

The other woman bites her lip and straightens. "Only… only if you listen, should I have something to add."

Gold meets silver. Miyu stands her ground.

"I can agree to that," The Warlock Vanguard relents.

"Thank you." Ikora doesn't miss the way Miyu's shoulders relax. 

She'd been expecting a fight, from start to finish. Ikora does not sigh, though she nearly wants to. For all that, though, she knows she's done this to herself; Burned these bridges with many of those within her jurisdiction. Now she's left with matchsticks and a lot of distance to overcome. 

The other Warlock strides past her. During their exchange, no other Hive had come to face them. It was peculiar. Ikora expected them to be drawn to the newcomer, to the added potential of Light to snatch.

"Miyu," Ikora begins, "I-"

Sloane's voice on the emergency override interrupts her. "She should be there already, Sir."

"Ikora," Zavala's voice is overwhelmingly concerned. "It's been nearly ten minutes, without contact. You agreed-"

"Nothing to worry about Commander," Miyu's bell-chime voice replies through the team channel, poised. Her fingers curl into fists at her side, and, ever aware, Ikora locks onto it. "Everything is fine."

There's a beat, an obvious pause. The silence is telling. Either Zavala is shocked silent, or he's muted himself to voice his concerns to his Ghost without input or audience.

Ophiuchus nudges her, in her mind. She already knows, she thinks back to him. "Sloane," Ikora calls. "Run tactical for us."

"Oh-kay?"

Zavala clears his throat, a moment later. Shocked silent, then, Ikora surmises. "Yes," He agrees. "I do believe that would be… best."

His worry is restrained, but echoes in the silence that follows.

They move to the doors, encrusted in Hive residue and ritual symbols. Only when the swordswoman draws her blade does her impromptu fireteam leader notice the irreversible damage to her armor, and the jagged, angry scar that peeks out across the damaged robes on her back. Her armor is blackened and dirty, stained and burnt. Ikora wouldn't have to be one tenth as intelligent as she is to determine the damage is recent.

"Taken?" Ikora inquires calmly.

" _Taken?_ " Zavala echoes.

"Wait, what?" Gasps Sloane.

"Be silent," Ikora barks to the two Titans on the line. "Miyu. You didn't inform us you were injured."

She insists, "I'm fine. It's a scar, not an open wound. The poison ate away at my armor, it has to be repaired manually is all. But," She agrees, "You're right. It was a combined effort, both the Taken and a Hive Knight were responsible."

"Ikora, send me the feed. Now!"

"Absolutely not," Both Warlocks reply in tandem.

Miyu chirps, "I believe our missing Fireteam might have been subjected to something similar."

Ikora addresses her again as the comms fall silent once more. “Why?”

“They…” She sighs. “The recording sounded like they were hallucinating, hearing things. Lilith - well, half of what she said was like she was in a waking nightmare.”

“And that is how-?”

Her eyes are made more striking by dark lashes. “There is an area in Eleusinia, that you have to cross through to purge the curse on the Dreaming City” Miyu begins. “It - the Taken miasma is usually damaging, but not psychologically altering. This time was a bit different.”

Ikora gestures to her Ghost when more worried chatter echoes over the comms. The other Warlock assumes she’s had him mute the two concerned Titans. Zavala's tone is imploring, in need of further information. It makes her heart leap into her throat. But, she knows she has to focus. They cannot afford to be sentimental, not now.

“Different how?”

“Usually it hurts. Slows you down. Makes you feel almost… Lightless. Healing without a rift isn’t possible.” Miyu lowers her sword, sheathing it as she continues. Beside her, her Vanguard takes the opportunity to feed a steady burst of Void energy to the seal that locks the outside of the Archology. It’s overpowered with ease. “It never had a taste or a smell, and it felt more like an area of effect magic versus a hallucinatory agent. This time it was almost… sweet. And,” She scrunches up her face, “Definitely lowered my inhibitions and judgement.”

“So you experienced some sort of… nightmare?” Ikora crosses her arms.

“No.” Miyu smiles sadly, a quick twinge of her lips. “It showed me something I want.”

“What did you see?”

She hums something disgruntled, crossing her arms. Her hair catches the remaining fluorescent lights, catching traces of the colors of the Milky Way that accompany the dark pewter strands when her head shakes. “Why did you ask Sloane to take over tactical?” She asks instead, in lieu of answering. The static crackles loud in their ears, but it’s clear that every word of their exchange is being listened to.

Ikora’s face looks pinched. This isn’t a discussion either of them wants to have on the strike logs. “You know why.”

“I do.” Miyu meets her unamused gaze with one that’s rather similar. “Why do you ask questions when you obviously know the answer?”

“Anyway,” Tamashii interrupts for everyone’s sake. He spins between them thoughtfully. “It took a lot to reach her. Whatever she was seeing, it was as though she’d been possessed, or hypnotized or… something? Whatever it was, it was concentrated heavily.” He swivels to face his partner. “It only faded when after you killed that Knight that-” Miyu shakes her head in time with Zavala’s heavy breathing in the background of the comm-line. “Well, there was a Knight that I think was responsible for boosting the Miasma in the first place.”

The situation is apparent - Ikora knows when someone is purposely withholding details - the Knight is clearly what had injured her. “The Hive are capable of similar without help,” Ikora reminds her. “Until we see the Taken, I would reason that the two events are separate incidents.

“It is safer for them to complete a ritual inside the Ascendent Plane,” Miyu supposes.

“Yes, I would say so.” Ikora turns, pacing. “We’ll lose our ability to communicate when we cross through the portal. And if they’re creating these… effects - whatever they are…"

“Exactly. It’s far easier to defeat a target who is impaired mentally. Especially if they can deceive them into going off on their own.”

“I don’t like the sound of this,” Says Sloane. “I want to bring back our team, Ikora, but-”

“I’ll go alone if I have to,” Miyu argues immediately, an unknowing echo of Ikora's earlier sentiment. “Lilith and her team is counting on me to come to their rescue.”

The Warlock Vanguard smiles. “Well, you heard her,” She says, in a smooth tone that’s half ironic, half amused, the look of surprise on Miyu's face at her endorsement errs on almost comical. She sobers. “No more wasting time. Let’s get to it.”


	37. What Have You Learned

They spend most of their time in silence, between small skirmishes as they traverse the Hive infested Archology. Ikora makes Miyu do the callbacks for each check-in. At first, Miyu thinks it's because she doesn't want to talk to the rather concerned Titan duo on the comms, but after the third or fourth check in, she begins to suspect something else.

Zavala's voice is… flighty, and it isn't the static. He's worried, but he becomes less so each time she takes to affirming they're still on the other end of the line. It's business-like, professional, they cannot express emotions-

"If I could spare you both a moment," Ikora eventually says, almost softly, "I would." 

"You-" Miyu sputters in response. No matter how many years, how many lifetimes, how Ikora manages to seemingly read the minds of others will always surprise her.

The other Warlock leaps over an Acolyte, arches her back and silences it with a bullet to the back of its head. She lands gracefully. It's clear that her time spent in the Tower also includes training. She has not lost a beat.

"I - well," She admits to her charge and ally, as they return to carefully stalking the halls in search of the missing Guardians, "Zavala and I have… we're talking," She manages. It's clear this line of conversation is unpleasant for her, that she's not used to discussing such things, especially with someone who is technically her subordinate. "It is not," She trails off again, trying to select the most appropriate terms, "Anyway. We are trying, and I thought you should know."

"You don't have to explain it to me-" Ikora's piercing glare transfixes her, and she raises her free hand, waving it in a truce, mildly stressing, "I didn't mean it like that! I just - I figured you'd both come around eventually. And you don't owe me an explanation."

"You've found yourself in the crossfire more than once. Literally," She rolls her eyes at her own pun. "I happen to think differently."

"Even still," Miyu affirms. Tamashii alerts her that it's time for check in, and she gestures to Ikora. "I'm sure he's worried for your sake as well." 

Ikora waves that off, though she does the callback all the same. "He'd worry, regardless of circumstance. He probably hasn't stopped pacing through command since I left." They share the smallest laugh between them at that. Then, as if sensing the moment is appropriate, the senior Warlock straightens. "I owe you an apology," She finally says, the moist, dingy halls as her witness. "I am… sorry for how I treated you, that - that I did not try harder. It was-"

The other shakes her head, trying to diffuse some of the awkward tension. "To be fair, I wasn't trying very hard, either. I'm sorry, too."

Both women watch each other silently for a moment. Ikora tips her head. "You said you've made a full recovery.”

"Yes."

"And the results?"

Ahead, a Knight growls ominously. It echoes from where the corridor opens, linking different buildings encapsulated within the ruined Golden Age campus. Miyu smirks, nimble fingers wrapping around her pommel. It’s an older sword, but the weight is similar enough to the one she’d been using that she can hardly tell the difference. "You'll see."

Her Vanguard harrumphs, though it lacks the bite she's grown accustomed to. She steps aside and gestures for the other to proceed. "After you.”

Tamashii shimmers into place over her shoulder. Miyu looks over at him as she draws her blade. "Ready?" He asks.

Behind her, Ikora blinks in her Ghost's direction. Ophiuchus obliges her non-verbal request.

-/

Adelaide has known her Guardian for centuries, long enough to know that for a Guardian, he's old. Not ancient, but old. Civilians have always made him chuckle, some assume him to be two hundred - a babe, in her estimation, while some add an extra zero and assume him to be two to three thousand years old. Those ones they laugh about for different reasons. They do not understand that it has not been all that long since the Collapse. Of course, that thought itself is always sobering.

Here, however, in the command center, she can see all his years in the frown etched into his jaw, the way his cool eyes cast light on his face. "You're going to pace a dip into the tiles," She chirps at him, in her childlike way. "Everything is fine."

"We could-"  _Lose them both._

"We won't." Adelaide has her own, similar fears, but she knows him. She can see him working his jaw, all but grinding his teeth. His fists are locked, one in the other palm, so tightly she wonders if he's going to break his own hand. "Zavala, please, relax."

"I should have gone."

"That would have been worse," She says. "It would have been a huge conflict of interest, even for you. And besides, you and I both know that Ikora is more than capable."

"So was Cayde," He replies, stern.

"Ikora will evaluate and think things through. We both know Cayde was cocky and flashy first, and a tactician second."

"Even so."

Not for the first time in the last hour she sends a plea to Ophiuchus to give her something that might be the slightest bit reassuring to her Guardian.

"Oh, alright," Comes the almost crotchety reply, over the comms instead of privately. "Kindly stop pinging me, Adelaide, I got it the first thirty-seven times."

"Hey!" The feminine Ghost bleats, unhappily. 

"We're approaching the portal," Ikora interjects. "When we go through, we're going to lose you."

He can hear the smallest hum of agreement Miyu makes. "We'll be fine," She adds.

"Yes. We should be well equipped, to handle this threat."

"Copy that," Sloane says from Titan’s base of operations, clearly trying to push down her wariness.

"Ikora-"

"We have this in hand, Zavala." Her voice is warm. Calm. She does not sound stressed. That’s not particularly unusual for her overall, but it’s certainly obvious to him. He’s still finding himself surprised when she errs on the side of maternal. "Don't fret."

His laugh is nervous, all the same. "You know I cannot help but to worry anyway."

Adelaide seems to pulse, shivering beside him. "Zavala, they-"

"Show him after we're gone," Ikora answers, a smirk in her tone. "It might help him listen to me."

The comms pop as Miyu murmurs, "I thought you were up to something."

Ikora is laughing in her quiet way as Adelaide throws a beam of Light at the console nearest them. An image - part of a video feed - casts a glow over the room and the Commander’s back. He does not stop pacing. "I am not up to anything, Miyu. I am simply reassuring our Fireteam leader that this is going to be okay. By the way," She segues, "I assume that since the strike generator was useless in this situation, we do not have a name."

"... we do not," Zavala stops in his tracks, agreeing.

"Allow me to propose one," She replies smoothly.

"It's… not protocol, but I suppose that's alright," Zavala relents.

"Phoenix," Ikora informs him.

Sloane accepts it easily. "Fair enough. Safe travels, Phoenix. See you on the other side."

While his Deputy’s voice eclipses the line, the Commander turns back to see the console. Adelaide has paused the feed for enhancement, but it's enough for him to see everything he needs to know. Ikora is rarely poetic, but she hardly veils her attempt to soothe him with her choice of words.

“I-” His eyes seems to search the image, torn between focusing on one area or taking it all in at once.

Miyu sighs, hundreds of millions of miles away and it sounds a lot like the relief he feels, looking at her image on the feed. She is resplendent, wreathed in fire. There is confidence in her posture, her gaze serious, luminous gaze intently focused. There is a an acute ache somewhere deep in his chest he is too disciplined to acknowledge as longing (for now). Her voice is sweet as she tells them, “We’ll be back before you know it.”

He inhales slow and strong. Reins in his worry. “That you will. Be brave, Phoenix.”


	38. Whispers

The air on the other side of the portal is typical of the Ascendant Plane. Stale, musty, and unnaturally cool. Miyu has Tamashii run a scan the very second they have their footing for any trace differences he might be able to detect. Around them, it looks a great deal like the Archology has been smothered in darkness, corridors extending on forever and dark, flickering gray overtones eclipsing the bright colors of the still functional lights.

There are no Hive waiting for them, as she's been expecting. In fact, it's eerily silent.

Tamashii does note that there are traces of Hive mana in the air. It is nothing like what they'd encountered in Eleusinia. Instead, it is simply standard for a Hive ritual. 

That does not mean that it becomes any less dangerous as they trek on, the chilling butterflies that cling to any residual Light fluttering hauntingly around them. In fact, it seems they've moved into a chamber, of sorts.

A barrier seals off the way they had come from, clearly disabling them in terms of returning through the portal by which they'd come through. Tamashii alerts her that the mana is stronger here.

The temperature seems to drop, and with it, Ikora carefully prepares herself for a battle. But… there is nothing. She stalks through the room and lingers in the encrusted archway that leads down even deeper still.

Miyu notices a metallic glimmer amidst the yellowish brown and green tinged gunk that the Hive seems to leave everywhere they go. "Ikora," She calls over her shoulder, "Wait!"

She claws at the ichar. It isn't terribly brittle, the disgusting crust still wet and gooey. It's awful to touch but good at the same time. It hasn't set, become that sticky, paper-wasp-like coating, which means it hasn't been there long. She helps it along with a burst of solar fire, to reveal a familiar hilt. Her heart leaps into her throat, concern and fury warring it out in her belly. She'd know this blade anywhere. If Lilith is disarmed, that means they're targeting her, and she’s even more vulnerable when she’s baked into a corner. She’s daring, and that’s not always a good thing. They have to hurry.

"Ikora, the Fireteam went-" She turns and stands, strapping Lilith's sword beside her own. "Ikora?"

Her partner in this rescue mission is nowhere to be seen. Tamashii blinks at her and turns toward the exitway. "I have a lock on her Ghost. Let's go," He says. "I have a bad feeling about this."

Ikora must have been moving, fast. Miyu follows along, moving hurriedly, following Tamashii's directions. A ways down, she remembers that the powerful Warlock can blink and that she'll have to push it to catch up quickly. She breaks into a sprint.

The air does not change, exactly. It's not like the Taken miasma she'd been influenced by before. This is more subtle. She's a lot more desensitized to it, from years of studying and fighting the Hive, but she can feel the prickle, feels the shuck-pulse of the floors and walls trying to make her feel claustrophobic, as though the walks are closing in. The soft, heady sounds that creep at the edges of her mind, trying to steal her focus.

She knows what they are, and she does not heed them.

"Whispers," Both Guardian and Ghost say to each other. Tamashii stays close, like a friendly beacon.

Ikora is not much farther ahead, Ghost tells her via their neural connection. Miyu isn't sure what she's expecting: she's never fought with the woman before today, never met her on the battlefield in competitive Crucible matches. She did not cross paths with the Vanguard at Burning Lake or Mare Imbrium. Ikora could be at their mercy or not even remotely impacted.

She hopes it's the latter. Despite having her facilities back and feeling better than ever, she does not doubt Ikora's combat ability. And if Ikora puts her down in paranoia or rage, that will certainly be the end of that, for how little Light is here.

"Yu-mi."

"I see her."

The festering halls open again to what looks like the skeletal remains of a greenhouse, dipped into this dark realm. Ikora lingers, though from behind it is impossible to tell if she is simply studious or dazed. Miyu takes her cue from Ophiuchus who flits around her, looking a bit concerned.

"I'm fine," She advises him, hand snapping like a whip. Miyu steps in closer, noticing the darkened, broken glass canopy she's looking into. "Cayde is - I hear him. He needs me," She murmurs, sounding a bit like she's frowning. As though she knows it isn't right, what she’s saying, but it's so very seductive, so tempting. "And I should have, I didn't-"

"Ikora, there's nothing there," Miyu says, willing herself to stay calm. Alarming her could potentially make things difficult. "It's the Hive, toying with us."

It doesn't surprise her when her Vanguard ignores her. They are in deep. This place is swirling with Darkness, it's nearly tangible, like a strange cloud at the edges of her vision, or lingering at the edge of her fingertips.

"I know," The proud Warlock says, loud like a thunderclap, to nothing at all. "I'm sorry," She continues after a moment, and it sounds like the effort of speaking takes everything she has. Her anguish apparent, she reasons, "I would have gone with you, I would always-"

Miyu reaches out a hand charged with glowing, sunny Light and lays it on the other woman's shoulder. She tries to be as soft as possible while still maintaining a firm grip on her Vanguard in case she tries to fight. She doesn't. At once, Ikora stills, whatever she'd experienced falling away with the golden aura that slips over her. Gently, alabaster fingers slide down the sleeve of her violet robes and she entwines their fingers. Ikora is slow to respond, her hand cold and limp in Miyu's.

"I saw Zavala," She whispers quietly when Ikora remains shocked still, having no doubt been shaken by the Hive's influence. She allows the protection she bestows on Ikora to thrum across her skin a while longer when the stoic woman blinks in silence at the golden glow of her umber skin, trying to separate what is real from what is fake. "I wanted so desperately to see him," Miyu admits, barely more than a whisper. "But," She tightens her grip when Ikora's fingers twitch like she wants to pull away, turn back toward the shadows. If she were less in control of herself, even at a vulnerable time like this, Miyu is certain Ikora would be shaking. "Then he said something that wasn't like him at all." Miyu shakes her head sadly, taking a careful step to stand in front of her teammate. Her usual alertness is replaced by cloudy suspicion, doubt lurking in the depths of her vivid gaze. "Whatever you heard, Ikora, you know it isn't true. They might be separate instances, but I know how you feel."

Ophiuchus hangs close by, watching his Guardian without acting terribly obvious about it. When the fight leaves her shoulders, Miyu begins moving forward, the slightest jerk of their combined hands the only real indication Ikora needs to understand what she wants. Her hand eventually closes around the Awoken's, a stark contrast of dark and light.

Miyu eyes the tacky slick of blood that drips down from Ikora's ears. "We should keep talking. The whispers probably haven't stopped, have they?" Like clockwork, Ikora turns, looking confused over her shoulder. Miyu squeezes her hand again, hard enough to hurt this time. It's grounding. "We're our own worst enemy, aren't we," She breathes, not so much to Ikora as she is stating in general. "They prey on what we love, and feed on our doubts and insecurities."

"Miyu," Tamashii calls, out "I'm picking up a Knight. That's the only powerful being I can see in short range. He's likely behind this."

She nods, immediately dropping a healing rift. Ikora watches her with clearing eyes. The abundance of Light helps reduce the Hive's altering influence. Ikora immediately pulls away.

"You are not similarly affected," She comments. "Aren't you-"

"Not as much, no." Miyu pulls her sword from its sheath. There is a smear of dried blood under her ear but it's not nearly as large. "I'm not sure if the Hive aren't targeting me or if I've just been fighting them for too long." She appraises her Vanguard with cool eyes, careful not to offend the woman with something that might err toward pity. "Was it auditory or visual or both?"

"Auditory, mostly."

"Stay in my rift, please," Miyu asks with a tone that does not desire argument. "I have a plan."

Ikora's golden eyes lock on hers. "Alright," She answers. The plume of healing Light washes over the floor and rises up like a warm mist.

"When mine fades, drop yours. It'll help." Ikora looks at her with a strange glance, a sure sign she's recovered quite a bit in a short period. "...as I'm sure you know," She adds, laughing hesitantly.

Miyu directs Tamashii to have Ophiuchus speak to her. If his Guardian leaves the rift or begins to feel impacted by the whispers again, even if he's just nervous that it might be the case, he's to inform them and she'll draw back. Ophiuchus insists that they’ll be just fine, and that Ikora can handle herself, thank you very much.

"Wait," Ikora calls, and Miyu pauses, relieved that her voice sounds far more confident than it has moments earlier. "That sword! Where did you get it?"

"It's what separated us in the first place," Miyu hollers over her shoulder. "It means we’re on the right track.”

Of course, the right track means danger. So when she ends the Knight responsible for the manipulation, a Wizard is waiting in the wings to attack her. Caught off guard and breathing heavy, it nearly finishes her off. But Ikora drops her own rift, barely blinking into existence for a second to do so before shifting back through the air with a crack and materializing directly in front of their enemy. She barely calls on the void and the wizard disintegrates with an indigo-violet shimmer.

"Thanks," Miyu says, pushing herself up to a knee.

Ikora offers her a hand and the other Warlock takes it, letting the human woman tug her up to her feet. "I owe you," She answers, worry lines etched across her forehead. "I was not myself."

Miyu waves her off. “Hardly. You did way better than me,” She nudges her shoulder forward, showing Ikora her back. “The Knight who gave me this had some friends who nearly killed Tamashii.”

“I’ve always had some mental fortitude,” Ikora muses. “But I have certainly lived longer than you.”

“Think again.” Miyu retorts. “I’ve got you by at least a century.” At the other’s confused stare, the Awoken's face scrunches in a cheeky smile. “I remember the Dark Age,” She murmurs.

Ikora shakes her head, eyebrows going up as she ponders this new information. “I didn’t know that.”

“Not many do,” She quips back, admitting, “They started calling me Grey around the Tower because they thought I was weak and boring. There’s more to me than people think.”

“I’m starting to gather that.”


	39. Phoenix Protocol

Miyu pulls her blade from the husk of an Acolyte, forming up on her Vanguard. Ikora’s gaze is heavy and dark, the blood trickling beneath her ears dark and sticky with residual ichar. In her hands, the void churns, volatile and hungry, ready to feed at its master’s behest, her superb gift thwarting the call of the Darkness. **  
**

“Another Knight,” She calls, louder now. No doubt she’s suffering from hearing loss thanks to her resistance to the Hive’s dark magic, even with her Ghost to heal her intermittently. “There has to be.” A Thrall darts out at them and Miyu smashes her fist into its skull. Solar Light flares out and engulfs them both. Ikora shifts, straightening. “What is - what are you doing?”

“I don’t have a name for it, yet,” The Awoken admits, “But it’ll help.”

“It’s not-”

“I’ve had some time to work on things.” She passes her leader. “I've learned some new techniques.”

Ikora taps her fingers against her ears. It doesn’t sound like she’s underwater anymore, and the energy reserves she’d normally need to cast a rift feels replenished and overflowing. It hasn’t been a minute since she’s cast. Curious. This healing and empowerment is not standard for a Dawnblade's arsenal. And, of course, there was that strange thing Miyu had done when the whispers were having their way with her.

"You've studied the Sunsingers," She calls out. 

"Some. The attunement is… different. It's more Dawnblade than anything."

Anything Miyu had left to say stops when she stands just outside the encrusted archway. Where the Ascendant Plane was less, well, gross in the Dreaming City, the Hive gunk seemed to be thicker and more pungent here.

"Ikora."

The other Warlock strides to her side. "No," She whispers, dark fingers fanning over her mouth. "We're too late."

The three guardians are plastered to the wall, entombed in the paperish crust of Hive residue, their Ghosts as well. All the crust seems to come together in an almost flower-like bloom, coalescing on the crystal embedded in the floor in the center of the room.

The Awoken steps forward. Ikora grabs her wrist, stopping her as a weak voice groans, "Run," The Titan coughs, his helm shattered across the visor. His Ghost pulses above him on the wall, drained. "It's a trap."

"There's a ritual circle," Ikora juts her chin, indicating the floor. "You cannot go in there, Miyu. We have to-"

Miyu's eyes are like jagged diamonds, glinting in the shadows, her mouth curved down in a sharp snarl. Her shoulders draw up tight like the bow her Ghost so affectionately nicknamed her for, centuries ago. Fingernails eclipse her pale skin, drawing blood as she clenches her fists. She jerks herself free of Ikora's hand viciously, startling her Vanguard.

"No!" The Hunter cries, wheezing. Tentacle-like wisps have punctured her middle, her blood trickling slowly from the wound. They intend to make these Guardians suffer. "Please, leave us," She begs. "It's alright."

Miyu looks to Lilith. All but the Exo's face is completely crusted over, her breath coming fast and shallow beneath the gross brownish green ichar, her optics unfocused, metallic lips moving to form unintelligible words, though sound does not leave her vocalizer. She'd been the first, the Dawnblade realizes. Tamashii senses her Ghost's fading Light, barely a dull flicker. He urges caution, but he knows they cannot wait.

"Lilith asked me to come for you,” Miyu informs them, with the kind of grace she does not feel, her heart beating a frantic tattoo in her chest. “I won’t let you die here."

"All three Ghosts are nearly dead," Ophiuchus rumbles behind them. "They're sucking their Light into that crystal." It’s ugly and beautiful all at once, drawing the skeletal paper butterflies that swarm any and all Light in Hive-infested territory.

"We tried to free her," The Hunter spits blood as the Warlock comes closer. "They were waiting for us. The Hive knew we would come for her, and you for us. They're counting on-"

"Good," Miyu growls, stepping in further, paying no mind to the glowing glyphs of the circle illuminating green beneath her boots, or Ikora's concerned outcry behind her back. She lifts her hands. The temperature rises. Furiously, she snaps, voice crackling with the embers of her Light, "Let them come."

Acutely, Ikora realizes that she wishes Zavala were here beside her. Not because she needs him; No, she's convinced now more than ever that the two of them can handle things without issue.

It’s just that no feed, no Ghost recording could accurately capture the way this feels, the decadent warmth of this blazing, empowering Light.

It makes a ring around the arcane circle the Hive have etched into the floor, overpowering the eerie green color with white-gold. It crackles and pops with embers and sparks, staying low and controlled.

When the Warlock Vanguard sees the sword come to life, she knows. This is not like others, not like Osiris's unstoppable blade, not like a Hunter's knives. It is wide, the blade almost as wide as her head. It is not the sword the Dawnblades throw. It is a great sword, held firm in both of her hands.

It is a candle, Ikora realizes.

It is a candle that turns into a bonfire. 

Miyu's vision, given form.

With an animal cry, the lithe woman thrusts it down into the crystal with superhuman force. The Hive come crawling from the depths of the shadows as it shatters beneath her feet and the Light is freed. 

When they rush in to attack, the Hive burn in shades of orange and gold. Miyu does not watch them fall. Her eyes are on the curls of Hive encrustments, burning away within the manifestation of her might. It spurns Ikora into action, the brilliant light blinding their enemies and allowing her time to pry the Titan and Hunter out from their thorny vine-like restraints.

There is a piercing cry, and then a booming groan. Ikora eases the Hunter to the ground and pushes her flickering, reorienting Ghost into her hands, letting her cradle it close. "This is nothing like what Lilith did," She grits out, her insides mending fast. Ikora is already looking for the source of the next threat., though both Titan and Hunter are immediately on their feet.

Lilith is coughing, hyperventilating, clawing at the hands that attempt to free her from her prison, gurgling weakly and confused beyond recognizing her saviors. Miyu calls to her leader, concerned. "Ikora, we have to get her free."

The smallest of the three Warlocks swings the second one of her arms is free. Miyu takes Lilith’s elbow to the face, unflinchingly. She summons what appears to be a grenade and pushes it against the Exo's forehead. As Ikora rips back the entrapments covering Lilith's Ghost, Miyu holds her charge’s face, wordlessly willing her bright green optics to focus and clear. "You’re okay, Lillie. I’ve got you, you did well. Look at me."

She thrashes until it sinks in, but eventually stills, much like Ikora had, with the Divine Protection thrumming over her meshed skin, healing her body and mind. She reaches a hand for the top of Miyu’s breastplate, pushing her dirty face into the older Guardian’s armor, shaking as her recovering Ghost precariously takes flight, nudging her forehead before phasing into her.

Miyu staggers to her feet, hauling Lilith up with her. The Exo sighs and relaxes into the protective warmth, eyes closing, until she hears the shingk! of Miyu drawing her sword.

Except, it isn’t Miyu’s. Miyu is holding out her sword. The one she’d lost, what might be hours or days or minutes ago, in the haze of confusion and capture and torment. She shudders, but Miyu squeezes her shoulder when she takes the sword and drops to her starting stance despite it. 

“Good girl.” That she doesn’t fight her teacher on being called ‘girl’ is a testament to how shaken she is. “Fit to fight?”

“Yeah,” She braves, still breathless, then realizes her surroundings more clearly. “Morgana! Bertie! Are you two-”

Morgana flips her a casual salute. “Right as rain.” She gestures around her. “Your, uh, teacher here kinda made your Well look like a puddle,” She jokes. Bertie nods, but remains silent beside her. Miyu’s piercing gaze is drilling into her side.

Right. Lilith looks at Miyu. She’s studying her intently, obviously understanding what the teasing Hunter meant. “I’ll tell you about it later,” She promises, and her teacher nods sagely.

Ikora turns away, the immediate threat to the Guardians thwarted, and sees the lumbering Ogre, kept shielded by what is most certainly an Omnighul behind it. Knights with their swords advance in front of them, and Thrall fill the gaps. "There are too many,” The Titan, Bertie, says, sounding wary. “We can't outrun them."

"Then we don’t." Miyu informs them. “Ikora?”

Regal, serene even, Ikora steps beside her. “I suspect this ability,” She looks to the side, dangerous golden eyes meeting Miyu’s quicksilver gaze, “Is just as empowering as it is healing?” She holds her hands out as if to feel the golden rift like it’s something tangible.

“You’d be correct,” Miyu agrees. 

Ikora grins, and it’s positively feral. “Then allow me.”

She draws back her palms, summoning the slippery-quick Void between them. Leaping with feline grace, she launches a giant supernova of purple light that could dwarf a planet, the entropic pull of her power like atmospheric gravity.

It hits the first enemy in an act of annihilation - the Ogre explodes on impact in a shower of purple fury. The thralls scatter, confused and frightened, Ikora supposes they’re not as mindless as they appear considering her show of power. Even so, they’re doomed to fall to her overwhelming cataclysm.

Beside her, Miyu dips her head. The temperature around her rises once more. “Allow me to finish off the rest?”

“I want the Omnigul,” Ikora responds, her voice still beholden to an undercurrent of her terrifying power.

“I suppose that’s fair,” Miyu responds. “You three, cover us.”

“Do… do you even need it?” Comes the Hunter’s quiet response.

Ikora chuckles. “It will look good on the strike logs if you assist,” She answers, trying not to sound mocking. Like clockwork, she hears the sound of ammunition being loaded behind her.

Miyu snorts, drawing her sword. “You get that a lot, I bet.”

“I don’t get out that much anymore,” She answers, snidely. “But, yes. I did.”

“Huh.”

She tips her lips in something almost smirk-like, but a touch less menacing. “Shall we, Miyu?”

With a smile, Miyu nods. “Thanks for helping me charge up,” She quips, patting her intricate armor. Ikora rolls her eyes, but there’s a kind of mirth, something amused about it. 

Where before it had been both, this time, Miyu raises a single hand. Her armor thrums with an exotic kind of energy, bolstering her Light. She’s ready. A more traditional Daybreak sword appears like a lightning strike in her grip, wings blooming from her back. Lilith hollers, half awed, half triumphant.

Miyu supposes they both owe each other a story, when they get back.


	40. Reunited

The Commander paces in front of them. Lilith and Bertie share a glance while Morgana fidgets nervously. “Continue. The Knights weren't giving chase but coercing you into a specific location?” **  
**

“Yes,” Bertie answers immediately, always alert when his Vanguard and Commander asks anything of him. “We believe they intended to corral us to an unstable area of the Archology to better lure us through the portal.”

He hums, never stopping his rigid pacing. 

Lilith makes a sound, clearing her throat. “You keep looking at the door, Commander,” She observes casually.

The pacing stops. “Do I?” He asks coolly in response. Bertie stares at Lilith as if she’s a dead woman for questioning him.

“Nevermind, Sir,” She chirps, when Bertie reaches around Morgana with his left arm and flicks her, nostrils flaring. “I must be imagining things.”

He lets it go, but the Hunter nestled between the other two members of her Fireteam follows the Titan Vanguard’s motions nonchalantly from then on.

“You’re totally right,” She whispers, when Zavala is pondering over something Bertie reports. “He’s totally watching the door. What is he waiting for, y’think?”

“The Wizards and Knights surrounded us then and-”

“Miyu.”

“What?” Zavala’s head rockets her direction, his brilliant eyes flickering over to the petite Warlock. 

She flinches. “I said, what do you  _mean you_  don’t remember,” Lilith lies as smoothly as she can, kicking Morgana’s heel, to tip her off. 

“I thought I was being quieter. I’m sorry,” She plays along, with a deceivingly angelic look that would make her late Vanguard proud.

“Of course,” He relents. “It was a rather traumatic experience for you all.” His gaze softens. “What is it she doesn’t remember?” 

“Oh, uh-” Lilith looks pleadingly to Morgana to come up with something, to intervene...

...but it's Ikora who saves her, appearing in the doorway. “You three. Clear out. Get a meal and a good night’s sleep. We’ll debrief in the morning, unless there’s something you believe you need to share with the Commander that cannot wait.”

“I-”

“Not you, Lilith,” Her Vanguard tuts. Turning to the door, she shakes her head. The other person with her has yet to step through, but Lilith knows for sure it's her teacher. “You’re right,” Ikora chuckles. “She is too smart for her own good.”

“Told you,” A bell chime voice muses.

Miyu steps through the door beside Ikora, lingering at the overlook that stands level with the largest screen in the command center. Both Warlocks look poised and content. Then, Ikora smiles. “Come on, you three.”

“But what about-”

“Lilith, if you need something to do, you might consider revisiting your katas. I’ll ask Lord Shaxx to assist you if need be.” 

“Wait, wait, seriously?" She glares up at Miyu, offended. "Haven’t I been beaten up enough for one day?” She pouts. “I was asking about loot, honestly.”

“Loot. I see.” Ikora crosses her arms. “Well, I suppose you three have earned something.” She pats Miyu’s elbow in passing. “I’ll be in touch with you in the coming days. I’d like to catch up more, if you’d be agreeable.”

“Absolutely.”

That settled, she turns back to the recovered Fireteam. “To the armory, then. I’m sure we can find something that will satisfy you.”

They nod, the Titan saluting his Commander while the other two slink away. Lilith turns back to regard Miyu, lingering in the western doorway that leads to the Vanguard's extensive armory down the hall. “When do we start training?”

“Tamashii will ping your Ghost. Take a break, Lillie. You’ve earned it.”

“I hate it when you call me that,” Lilith pouts begrudgingly, and Miyu’s glad to see her back to normal, refusing terms of endearment.

So she laughs, warm and bright, like summer wind chimes. “I know.”

Ikora follows after them, pausing not far from her partner in arms. “Speaking of breaks,” She muses, “I had better not see you for at least thirty-six hours.”

He looks at her, baffled, but she takes a moment to regard Miyu. “At least,” She advises her, as if Miyu is the only reason he'll heed Ikora's advice.

“Understood,” She answers, softly. Gratefully. “Thank you.” 

“It is the least I can do,” She answers, taking her leave. “We’ll talk soon.”

Then, they’re alone.

Their eyes finally, finally meet and her voice catches in her throat.

It's been so long since she's seen him, she thinks. She strides purposely down the small staircase, working up her nerve. Instead of a timid stutter, she offers him a bashful smile. It's as though she can't believe this moment has come, she's truly seeing him, in person.

He returns it instantly, and reaches for her hands. Her palms are warm in his, the pads of his fingers almost electric when his fingertips curl over her skin. 

"Miyu," Her name leaves his lips in a whisper, so tender and reverent that any trace of bashfulness melts away. 

I've missed you so much, she thinks. More than anything. There is so very much she wants to say.

"I-" He pauses, momentarily silenced by the seriousness of her quicksilver gaze. It's as though she's seeing beyond the ethereal glow of his irises, her eyes drilling deep down into his soul. She squeezes their combined hands, licks her lips, and beams, finally saying the words. She'd promised him. She wanted to say it with everything that she is and was and hopes to be. Here, in this moment, she finds that she has never been more herself. 

"I love you."

-/

Urgency and longing do not make for lengthy relations, but Miyu is careful to only give the Commander her front and let him linger over the new mark on her back. She is certain his worry and concern - anger, perhaps, even, when she tells him how she allowed it to happen - will take away from this moment. And Miyu wants to savor this one, pack it up in a little box and hold onto it forever.

It's not what she imagined, not the tender, slow thing she'd conjured up in her mind on nights when she longed so desperately for his touch, to go home. He's gentle, but not terribly so. She burns hot under his palms, her fingers deftly working to remove layers of armor while he subtly backs her up against the nearest wall.

His Light pulses against hers, like an extension of his person. It gives away the questions he is desperate to ask, but wants to put off in lieu of reconnecting with her. She kisses him as she answers with her own, heady flames dancing along her fingertips, her Light positively radiant as it washes over his Void-tinged skin.

In a way, this is more intimate than what follows. It's a blend of who they are, the sort of Nirvana that exists at the crossroads of two souls.

She comes back to herself slowly, startling when she feels his fingers trail carefully over the new mark on her back. His lips find her temple and she relaxes, her face pressed into the crook of his neck. She can feel his heartbeat, strong against her chest, her body rising and falling with the cadence of his every breath.

He's relaxed, but concern lurks below the depths of his voice. "Does it hurt?"

"Mmm, no," She yawns, stretching but not moving from her position atop him. He takes the cue from her to shift, but she protests, humming, "You're warm," And trying to cling to him.

"Let me see you," He whispers against the shell of her ear. Something about that makes her breath catch and sets her heart racing. She rolls off him, curling in on herself in a defensive move, Tamashii instantly asserting himself into the space above them. His disruption of their privacy furthers the Commander's realization that something is wrong.

"Miyu?" He murmurs. "What-"

"The Taken-"

She uncurls, but her body is rigid. "I'll tell him, Tamashii." Her eyes are bright, glossy with unshed tears. "Thank you, though. I will not let them ruin things for me." Her partner bobs, phasing away. She can hear Adelaide's concerned chatter in the other room as he returns to her.

"You-" He sighs, torn between drawing her up against him, or letting her come to him. He sits up, careful to leave space between them. "You told Ikora that they showed you something you wanted."

"It was a moment of weakness," She agrees, swiping at her eyes as she scoots closer and rolls onto her belly. She's still so tense that he's worried that the slightest touch will make her fall to pieces, his eyes refusing to leave her face despite his worried curiosity. "I wanted to see you, more than anything, and they used that to take advantage of me."

He can feel the heat of her Light, simmering below the surface, ambiently as opposed to when she’s worked up, training, or frustrated. It's new, tantalizing, and yet so very familiar, no longer lurking just out of reach. Even so, he keeps his hands clasped over his knee.

She pulls a pillow up under her head, sighing. "It's okay," She finally says, her breaths slower now. "I'm not afraid. I just needed a second."

"Understandably," He murmurs. She looks exhausted, boneless and limp, stretched across the sheets. "Rest," He bids her.

"I don't want to, yet," She whines. "I haven't seen you in so long."

"I'll be here."

"I know," She agrees. "But-"

His fingertips press into her hair, rubbing her scalp. She sighs, but her eyes do not close like he's expecting. "If you insist."

She pushes up, body bowing seamlessly up and back to stretch her back. His eyes are drawn to the marbled black that stretches across the expanse of her starlit skin. It's almost completely flat, as if healed, the skin scarred and unbroken.

"Don't fret," She murmurs, as the pads of his fingers follow it from end to end. "It looks far worse than it is. It doesn’t hurt me.”

“I am more concerned about lasting impacts.”

“I all but bathed myself in fire, casting Dawnblade afterwards,” She says. “I’ve purged it with Light several times over. Besides, scars are just poetic reminders of our victories.” 

“And this victory? What did you stand to gain by visiting the Sov’s throne world?”

The pale Warlock tips onto her side, so it’s easier to look at him. “It forced me to confront myself. I’m better for it. I feel like myself again.”

“I am glad,” He ensures her. “But, to me, you have always been perfect, exactly how you were.”

She snatches the hand that trails across her spine by taking his wrist and pressing her lips to his fingers. “Yes, but I feel like there is so much more of me that I can share, now that I’ve found what I am looking for. My visions finally mean something.” He’s watching her intently. “Ikora wants to study it at length, but I insisted she wait until I show you first."

The smile in his voice is knowing. “You’ve learned something new.”

“The fruits of our training,” She informs him. “I call it the Well of Radiance. Ikora would like to adopt it as the Attunement of Grace. A third school of study for the Dawnblades.”

“You must have impressed her immensely, if she's already given it such thought.”

“I think she just liked the boost my Well gave her Nova,” Miyu hums, tugging him back down to her. He follows easily, pulling them hip to hip. “She said if she still played Crucible we’d be virtually unstoppable.”

“It empowers?”

“And heals,” She murmurs, forming a grenade in her palm. It dissipates into a nurturing, hazy aura that sends sparks of revitalizing Light across their skin. The feeling is like being swaddled with a blanket. She nuzzles against him when it fades, nestling against his muscular frame with a contented yawn. “It’s not a Ward of Dawn by any means, but I think you’ll find the idea somewhat similar.”

“Show me,” He whispers, lips brushing against her skin as she settles, blinking slow and heavy. Fading, she mumbles something sleepily into his chest, brows disturbed as she tries to fight the tides of impending slumber. His reply is a warm, rumbling laugh. “In the morning,  _Anata_. For now, sleep.”

Miyu slots her left leg between both of his, their limbs tangling comfortably in a loose embrace. They sleep dreamlessly until morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue to follow, next Saturday. 
> 
> For making it this far, you have my gratitude. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart for reading. This won't be the last of Miyu's tales, I promise.


	41. Epilogue

“It’s so nice not to be bogged down with full combat armor,” Miyu chimes, the warm spring breeze kicking up flower petals and rippling the banners all around them. She spins once, her light robes flaring for good measure. She still keeps a sword tucked into her sash, but it's clear that she's far more comfortable.

Zavala hums indulgently when she returns to his side. Her fingertips dance across the back of his palm and he shuffles just the smallest bit closer, enveloping his hand with her own.

“I need to visit Tess,” She informs him, and he nods, gesturing for her to lead the way. “I’d like to get Lilith a present.”

“I don’t know that Tess has anything that isn’t green and gold, Anata,” He informs her. “The Revelry’s adornments are a bit... Earthy.”

“Something that matches her optics might please her,” Miyu considers, “But I’m certain Tess will have some loud, girlish shaders, maybe left over from Crimson Days?”

“Perhaps,” He relents. “Shall we?”

Eververse isn't busy, the majority of Tess's customers have been coming later in the afternoon as opposed to mid-morning. It's unsurprising, considering the Guardians have been carrying on late into the night, celebrating the season. When they approach, Tess is reorganizing her inventory following a night of record sales. She turns when a shadow is cast over the bundle of Revelry gear she’s just placed on the shelf.

“Looking for something, Guardi- oh,” The normally shrewd businesswoman stalls as her eyes trail from the Warlock’s snow-colored eyes to the familiar red cording of her bond. “This is a surprise. What can I do for you?” She recovers, ignoring Zavala’s pointed look in lieu of addressing her most… interesting prospective customer.

If Miyu catches on she doesn’t show it, inquiring, “May I see what bonds you have in stock?"

Tess narrows her gaze, confused, asking pointedly, “Not happy with the one you have? It's one of a kind, you know. The Commander here was rather specific about it's every detail."

Miyu’s hackles go up, shoulders wound tight, her brows pulling together fast. She keeps any concern from bleeding into her voice. “Not at all,” She shakes her head immediately. “I want to get something for my friend. Hers took a beating on our last mission.”

“So you like yours-”

“Tess.”

"Yes." Her diamond eyes blink up to Zavala, whose gaze softens monumentally under her scrutiny. Tess could almost gag at the shift in the mood, but she's got glimmer to make, and the information she's gathering is far too good to get squeamish now.

“Anyway,” The Awoken shop-keep segues, turning back to her assorted shelves, “Are you looking for a custom design? That will take longer.”

“She changes her mind too much for me to invest in something like that,” She gently cups the intricate knot that's wrapped around her upper arm, at the bottom of her deltoid. The faintest brush of a hand at the small of her back has her looking up at Zavala for a beat, her smile soft, before regarding Tess. "Do you have anything for the Revelry that would look good with a pink shader?”

“Of course!” She huffs, indignant. “I have plenty of options for you.” She procures a box from a nearby rack of similar containers stamped with the Eververse logo. "Look these over, and I'll see what kind of Shaders I can turn up for you. How gaudy are we going?"

"As bright and shiny as we can," Miyu answers, with a delicate laugh.

With the Awoken shop-keep rummaging through the back, Zavala leans in close to look with her through the smaller boxes with Warlock Bonds that are contained neatly within the larger package. The ones at the top are intricately engraved with flower-like sigils, clearly a limited run to celebrate the inaugural Revelry. Beneath, there are others, but none seem to fit what the demure Warlock is looking for.

"Nothing caught your eye? Hang on," Tess instructs, setting down an armful of Shaders on the table beside them. "I know just what you're looking for," She calls over her shoulder. "Eva is technically selling it down the way, but I'm sure she won't mind if I help myself to one. I helped her design it, after all."

The Bond is a simple, thick band, covered with chrome finish, and features the flowery symbol of the Revelry like a projection. Miyu hums. "Yes, with the right shader, she'd love it."

"Take all the time you need to decide," Tess obliges.

Miyu turns to Zavala. "Help me," She begs, pouting, "I don't know anything about color combinations. Just that I don't like any of these."

The Commander frowns. "She likes loud, yes?" He confirms.

"And it has to be sparkly." Miyu matches him, leaning in closer to him go look down at the collection of shaders.

Tess sighs, shaking her head, watching them from the corner of her eye. Never did she think she'd see the day the Commander willingly walked the Tower with a suitor. She can admit there's something terribly endearing (almost disgustingly so) about the combination of the two of them... Although, it's a wonder he didn't commission her bond in a clashing color scheme. And if she thinks the Commander to be an authority on style, well.. Tess isn’t quite sure under which rock this particular Guardian's been living.

But, then again, who is she to judge?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so very much for taking the time to read! This isn't the end of Miyu's story. Look out for more tales of her adventures soon! (I've got a prequel story, and some plans for Shadowkeep!)


End file.
